


Landslide

by ohpleaselarry



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: 90s AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blowjobs, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis Tomlinson, Crying, Cuddling, Fluff, Light overstimulation, Lots, Lots of it, M/M, Riding, Road Trips, Top Harry, Top Louis Tomlinson, Top/Bottom Versatile Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, because they kind of share that really, but imma admit it's more t!H lmao, but only if you can handle it, could be a uni au if you squint, handjobs, implied major character death, it's the 90s so plenty of song and cultural references, its mad sad, just read it, not happy ending, road trip au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpleaselarry/pseuds/ohpleaselarry
Summary: In the summer of 1995, Harry finishes his second term of university with flying colours, and decides that the only way to truly celebrate is to go on a four week long road trip around the UK filled with music, sight-seeing, and way too much pot.When Niall refuses to go, he has no choice but to accept the company of a spontaneous boy with an eccentric fashion sense that he’s only just met.Louis is wildly loud, blunt, and may or may not be everything Harry’s ever needed in life, even with the boy’s knack for causing mischief and ranting about mortality. Oh,And Louis has a big fucking secret.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 33





	Landslide

**Author's Note:**

> guys this entire fic is inspired by this pic: [PIC](https://imgur.com/gallery/JjYfz2D)
> 
> WARNING⚠️ : I don’t want to spoil anything but pls have a look at this warning and see that this fic, while it may start out fun and almost crack-ish, is probably the saddest fic I’ve ever written. While editing this fic I cried and that’s NEVER happened from reading my own work. You may laugh and feel the fluff and the 90s nostalgia of this fic but please don’t take it lightly when I say you will cry and to please please stay away if you cannot handle sad fics. The ending is very bittersweet but def not happy and there’s no way to tag a specific warning without literally spoiling every single twist so just don’t be mad when you finish the fic and you’re crying in the club bc you’ve been WARNED ! 😭
> 
> Also I feel like it’s important to mention that the boys are 20&22 in this fic, so around when they both started growing their hair out together, if you like to imagine certain eras of them as you read lol. Don’t think I ever actually mention their ages in the fic itself. 
> 
> In other news: I wrote this fic with my entire heart and soul pls don’t steal it. I have been wanting to write a 90s fic ever since I saved that manip of L in my phone in NOVEMBER, but I just didn’t have a plot line until it randomly hit me. I pretty much predominantly listen to 80s&90s alternative music so adding songs to this fic was sort of always planned. 
> 
> Now! Throughout the fic, you will find numbers placed randomly in this format: (#). Basically what I’ve done is I’ve made a playlist of songs on my YT channel. All the songs are 90s songs, and are the songs I would put with each following scene if perhaps it were a film or something. I kept the numbers small and just bold to keep it not so distracting, but if you want to listen to the music as you read, here is a [LINK](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkSNdOXNvl72Xqm2C7g9JypZ_OtsA0Zq) to the playlist.  
> The directions are listed in the description of the playlist.  
> Of course, playing songs and having to pause the list throughout may ruin the immersion, so this is obviously optional! I would recommend trying it out during a second read through maybe ? 
> 
> Enjoy! 💚

_’And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills..’_

-

On the third day of July in 1995, Harry Styles finishes his second term of university with flying colours, and decides that the only way to truly celebrate is to go on a road trip.

“I don’t think you understand, Niall, it will be fucking amazing. Just the two of us, exploring the sights—“

“What?” Niall shouts, leaning over on the couch to hear him better. Harry sighs exasperatedly, taking a joint when handed to him and leaning in as well.

“Road trip! Us! Four weeks long!” Harry says, eyebrows lifting suggestively. Niall laughs, loud and hearty, shaking his head.

“Fuck off, s’ if Amelia would let me out for that long. Besides, Ma wants me home. Says it’s unpatriotic to not be back when I can be.”

“Niall, this is our last chance! We both know the next few years will be nothing but stressful and then we’ll be moving onto our careers and we’ll never be able to do it.” Harry pouts, his best one, but before Niall can answer, there’s glass smashing and a ball of boy falls right over both of their laps.

Niall just yelps in surprise, too high or maybe pissed to react properly, but Harry reaches out to steady the boy, who is shouting something extremely loudly.

“Fuckin’ give ya bird’s knickers back, Lucas!” The boy is shouting, accent most definitely northern as he wriggles and instead of standing back up like a normal person, folds his hands behind his head and gets comfortable where he lies across their legs.

“Can’t give ‘em back when you’re wearing them, you fuckin’ freak!” Another boy responds just as loud, standing where he’s apparently pushed the boy, and he’s grinning despite how serious the argument sounds.

“You wan’em back wit’ a bit of special sauce, mate?” The boy asks, and grins widely and suddenly Harry’s inebriated mind catches up and realises he’s got a lap full of fit boy and he’s currently _clutching_ his shirt.

“You’re wearing knickers?” Harry asks dumbly, not removing his hand just in case the boy falls again, and said boy blinks, bright _bright_ blue eyes shifting over to him like he’s only just realised he’s laying on people. His eyes look like they’ve captured the entire ocean.

“Wanna see?” He reaches down with dainty fingers and flips the waistband of his washed jeans and shows off a thin sliver of dark red lace before his eyes shift and he shrieks, sitting up and arms curling around Harry’s neck, pulling himself up so he’s just sat right in his lap, legs still over Niall’s.

“Oi, don’t do it! There’s innocent lads here!” The boy shouts, cradling Harry’s head like he’s protecting him. Harry peeks through the gap in his arms and finds the Lucas boy stood in front of them holding a pint like he’s about to pour it over them.

“Please don’t, I just got this shirt.” Harry reasons, and the boy considers, before waving carelessly and bounding away as if he were never engaged in a conversation in the first place.

The boy sighs in relief and sits back. He still doesn’t stand up from his lap, but leans back with his elbows on the arm of the couch and reaches for the nearly forgotten joint in Harry’s other hand.

“I’m Louis.” He says, pinning him against the cushion with an intense stare, and Harry is still trying to forget about the red lace knickers as he smiles, glancing to Niall to see the boy sucking on a beer and seemingly fine with this situation.

“Harry. That’s Niall, he refuses to go on a road trip with me.” Harry introduces, slurring only a little bit. The boy exhales the pot and hands it back to him, before reaching over and smacking Niall’s arm.

“The fuck, Horan? How could you be so cruel to someone so curly?” Louis asks, free hand cupping under said curls with an exaggerated pout.

“Sorry, Tommo, some of us actually have responsibilities and girlfriends to think about.” Niall replies with a shrug. And okay, Harry’s going to have to ask him later why he knows a boy this fit and has never introduced him.

“Define girlfriends,” Louis requests, and he’s still touching at Harry’s hair, fingers tangling into the tendrils. He’s left to wonder if the lad is normally this handsy with people he’s only just met in literally the last few minutes.

**(1)**

“Actually, tell me about this road trip.” The boy decides, eyes falling back on Harry as he steals the joint once again.

“Okay, four week long road trip. We head over to Liverpool, then down all the way to Cornwall, then east to Canterbury, then all the way up with the grand finale at the Lake District National Park, and back here just in time for next term.” Harry explains, only slurring a little bit, of he does say so himself.

“Where the fuck you getting the money for all that?”

“‘Arry’s loaded. When he’s done with Uni he’s gonna work at his mum’s label.” Niall pipes in with a grin. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m _loaded_ —“

“A label, huh? Alright, I’m in.” Louis interrupts, sticking his hand out like they’re making a bet. Harry shakes his soft hand with a smile.

“Wicked,” he says, then realised what’s being said, “wait, what?”

“I’m coming on your road trip, mate. Don’t worry, my music taste is far better than Niall’s, and I’ll protect you from any hooligans.” Louis makes cute little fists and punches at the air above him, making sound effects with pursed lips.

Harry watches and tries not to groan at the shifting of the boy’s arse on his lap.

“You’ll come with? You don’t want to think about it?”

“Life’s too short to think, Harold. Come on, let’s go drown Stan in the pool.” Louis jumps up from his lap and takes his hand. Harry glances to Niall and sees he’s wearing an oddly suspicious smirk as he’s drug out of the living room.

There’s some Take That song blasting through the house, and Harry can only stumble along and notice he’s taller than this fit boy who’s arse looks terribly fantastic in his jeans as they step outside and grab two new beers.

Then, well, they attempt to drown Stan Lucas in the pool.

-

Harry wakes up with an absolutely killer headache, and pins and needles all up and down his entire left side.

He’s lying in grass, the morning sun beating right onto him. It’s nice and warm, but also incredibly fucking bright.

“I want to die.” He groans when he attempts to open his eyes, squeezing them back closed immediately against the spotlight attacking his irises.

“Shh, stop shouting, Curly.” A raspy voice grumbles, lips moving against his collarbone, and then Harry realises his side is asleep because there’s a boy sprawled over it.

It takes him a full ten seconds to remember last night. Louis. Knickers. Pool. Fit. Road trip. What the fuck.

“Ugh, shove it, Lou, gotta wee.” Harry murmurs, squinting his eyes open just barely enough to see where he’s reaching. He sees they’re still fully clothed, which is a good sign but also a bit sad, and places a hand on the boy’s hip and rolls him over. Louis whines but goes pliantly.

Harry sits up and shakes out his prickly arm, rubbing at his eyes with his fist. With Louis rolled over, his low hanging washed jeans and ridden up shirt reveal the waistband of those fucking red knickers, sitting snugly against golden skin. He has dimples at the bottom of his spine.

It’s way too fucking early for this.

He stands up and walks across the lawn, watching his step next to the pool so he doesn’t fall in and die. Inside smells like pot and sweat and spilt beer. Harry steps over sleeping bodies and used plastic cups and finds a toilet. He has a piss, and a decidedly quick wank, before splashing his face to feel a little more alive.

He doesn’t even know who’s fucking house he’s in, but he has a root through the medicine cabinet, finding some paracetamol. He pockets the entire bottle and makes his way back to the kitchen.

A girl in just a bra and bell-bottom jeans is pouring tea into a mug, looking just about as dead as Harry feels. He steps up next to her and musters up a smile best he can.

“Morning.” He whispers, minding the people sleeping and also both of their hangovers.

“Have some, it’s the only thing that can save our souls.” The girl whispers back, motions vaguely to the kettle, then shuffles out of the room with her cuppa. Harry smiles and complies, finding two mugs and pouring them. He walks back out of the back door with the tea, and finds Louis still in the same position, laying on his side with his head in his arms.

“Oi, Louis, wake up.” Harry says, and sits back in the grass, flattening the blades a bit so the mugs don’t topple when he sets them down. Louis groans but doesn’t move. Harry sighs and reaches for his arm, pulling at him until he rolls back over and levels him with an icy glare.

“I can in fact murder you with jus’ my pinky finger.” Louis informs, eyes narrowed so tightly that he surely can’t even see.

“Do it later, I got us tea and medicine.” He shifts to pull the paracetamol from his pocket, wincing at the rattle noise as he shakes them out.

Louis’ entire glare softens and he reaches for one of the mugs immediately upon spotting them, other hand extended for the medicine.

“What is it?” The boy asks, sniffing at the liquid.

“Not Yorkshire, that’s all I know,” both boys sighs in tandem, “but tea’s tea right now and it’ll help. I didn’t know how you take it so I kept it plain.”

“Happy days.” Louis rasps, then downs the medicine and promptly gulps half of the mug in one go. Harry follows along, blinking through his pounding headache and noticing that his intoxicated mind most definitely didn’t exaggerated Louis’ hot-quality.

He’s just as fit sober, as it turns out.

“Dunno if you remember much of last night, but I’m leaving for the roadtrip tonight.”

“Mm,” Louis hums with a hand gesture that must be an agreement, “I can be packed in an hour.”

“You still want to come?” Harry blinks, hiding his smile in his tea. Louis wipes at a grass stain on his arm with a pout, his own tea finished.

“I don’t make empty promises, Harold. Fuck, lets jump in the pool.”

“Are you a fucking psychopath?” Harry replies, wincing just at the thought. His head is about to actually explode and his limbs are heavy and the medicine isn’t going to kick in for at _least_ twenty minutes.

“I might be, you don’t even know me,” Louis’ eyes flash to him, and they’re filled to the brim with mirth, “no take back’s on that invite, mate. ‘Fraid you’re stuck with me for the next four weeks.”

Harry opens his mouth to say that’s not what he meant, that he’d love for the boy to accompany him, but then Louis scrambles up from the grass and shrieks at the top of his lungs as he cannonballs right into the pool a few metres away.

Harry’s head pounds with the noise, and his muddled brain is too slow to cover his tea from the splash zone of chlorine, but he finds himself grinning from ear to ear.

He truly _doesn’t_ know the boy, and yet he couldn’t be more excited.

-

The five o’ clock sun shines over Manchester University’s buildings as Harry parks his car in front of Louis’ flat on the outskirts of campus. He ambles out of the car and is just about to walk up the walkway to the door when there’s a loud whistle.

He looks up, sunnies sliding a bit down his nose, and sees its Louis, bounding down the walkway with a duffle tossed over his shoulder.

“Shit, Niall wasn’t joking when he said you were loaded, was he?” Louis calls, then steps up to him and runs a hand over the smooth white paint over the back window. Harry laughs, shrugging a bit.

“It’s just a car.”

“Didn’t they only sell, like, 300 of these?” Louis deadpans, raising a disbelieving eyebrow at the classic Porsche 911 beside them.

“250.” Harry murmurs, cheeks pinking. Louis laughs, loud and completely beautiful, before he slaps Harry’s arm and dumps his duffel right into the boot.

“We better head off before we lose all the sunlight, Harold.”

“You don’t need to make any stops? My mum spent three hours hugging me goodbye.”

Louis laughs again, short, hand waving like he’s being silly.

“I don’t have any family in Manchester. Come _on_!” He bounces excitedly to the passenger side and Harry gives in with a laugh of his own. When he climbs into the driver’s and pulls the door closed, he finds Louis is already fiddling with the radio, and he grins.

“I’ve got cassettes if nothing good is on.” Harry says, and pulls right away from the curb and starts off towards the freeway. They should reach Liverpool within an hour, so Harry doesn’t bother with snacks or anything.

**(2)**

Louis stops on a station, and they both look to each other instantly as the beginning notes filter through the speakers, smiles spreading on both of their faces.

Windows rolled down, the summer breeze flows through the car as Louis turns the volume up to near ear-splitting. Harry laughs, looking over as often as he can while keeping his attention on the road. It’s hard not to be distracted when Louis’ singing along in a beautiful tenor and doing some sort of silly dance.

Turning onto the freeway, the sun blares in through the windscreen and bathes them both in a golden glow. Louis roots around in the glove compartment and finds Harry’s backup sunnies, pops them on his nose and looks absolutely ravishing as he sticks a hand out of the window and continues singing.

If Harry can make it through this road trip without jumping the lad’s bones, he will definitely be deserving of every possible award in the world.

-

Liverpool nightlife is live and well as they cruise through. Harry pulls into the first hotel he finds. Well into downtown, it’s a rather nice one.

“Don’t get used to it, yeah? There’s definitely going to be some shit and probably dangerous sleeps during this trip.” Harry warns as they collect their luggage and step into the lobby of the rather nice hotel. Louis holds up his hands in surrender, eyes taking in the nice decor with a smile.

“I expect nothing less, darling.” Louis drawls, then steps up to the front desk and immediately asks if their room service offers chocolate covered strawberries. Harry follows him with an amused smile. The boy seems big on calling him pretty much everything but his actual name, and he may or may not love it.

“He means to ask if you have any vacancies.”

“Right,” the woman smiles, “single or double?”

“Single.” Louis says before Harry can even open his mouth to say double. He raises and eyebrow, but the girl is already nodding and fetching them a key.

“Lovely. Cash, card, or cheque?”

“Card.” Harry says, digging it out of his pocket while Louis leans over the desk and tries to catch a peek of whatever paperwork is spread on her side.

After she takes their information and hands them keys, they drag themselves over to the lift. The moment they’re alone, Harry turns to the boy with narrowed eyes.

“Did you ask for a single so you can kill me in my sleep?”

“Nah. Life’s too short not to enjoy a nice cuddle every night.” Louis informs matter-of-factly, patting his chest. Harry smiles, fond despite himself.

“Sure, but did I mention I sleep in the nude?”

“Did I mention I don’t have a gag reflex?”

Harry chokes on his own breath, cheeks heating immediately. Louis grins in an oddly satisfied way, eyes bright and absolutely no shame etched on his expression.

“The fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything, young Harriet. Use your imagination.” Louis rolls his eyes and the lift dings. The boy prances out of the tiny enclosed space and down the hall to find their room.

Harry stumbles along after, and tries desperately to think of every nan he’s ever known as his eyes refuse to stray from Louis’ arse.

Right, he might not be getting any awards after all.

-

“Are you trying to tell me I didn’t share a pint with George Harrison? I think I’d know me own memory better than you, _mate_.”

Harry blinks out of his dazed reverie, zoned out watching a girl’s extremely sparkly tassel dress swirl as she dances across the room, and tunes back into Louis’ slurred conversation with some guy next to them.

“Lou, you didn’t share a pint with George Harrison, that was just a lad with the same haircut at the last pub.” Harry tells the boy, who whirls on him with the biggest look of betrayal.

“How dare you, H! My best mate for my entire fucking life—“

“We just met yesterday.”

“Doesn’t even support me! I can’t believe you, Ha-Hazzy Hazza.”

“Mm, I like that one.” Harry yawns, and gently takes the pint from Louis’ hands and smiles apologetically at the man next to them, then starts to steer the boy out of the pub by his hips.

“No,” Louis whines, but doesn’t do much in terms of struggling, “don’t wanna leave yet.”

“It’s almost two and we have driving to do tomorrow. Time for bed before we have killer hangovers again.” Harry reasons, and links their arms once they step out into the warm night. The hotel’s only down the road, smacked in the middle of town and making pub crawls quite efficiently available.

“Life’s too short to sleep.” Louis says in a decidedly forlorn voice, but stumbles along next to him. Harry helps him, also leaning into his side as well to keep himself upright. They probably shouldn’t have drank _again_ , but it’s a road trip holiday, they’re allowed to have stupid fun, he reckons.

“Life’s too short for everything it seems, with you.” Harry replies as they carefully step across a crosswalk, looking back and forth before crossing five times just to make sure.

“You got that one right, mate.” Louis says, and it sounds morbid for some reason. Harry blinks and nods along to a question that wasn’t asked.

The hotel lobby is nicer than he remembers, but even nicer than that is when they settle into the lift and Louis groans, stepping up to him and circling his arms around his waist, nose to his neck.

“You’re a handsy drunk.”

“I’m handsy sober, too.” Louis mumbles immediately into his skin. Harry smiles, arms around his back, too pissed to stop himself from pressing his lips to Louis soft hair and feel the strands against his skin.

“Handy.” Harry says, then giggles. Louis snorts, and one of his hands around his waist reaches down and smacks his arse.

“Cheeky. I’m too uncoordinated to touch your knob at the moment. Ask me again tomorrow.” Louis says, then pulls away right before the lift opens as if he could sense it or something. In the hall, he attempts a cartwheel and nearly brains himself. Harry cackles and can only hope they aren’t rudely waking every single person in the hotel as they stumble into the room.

The door shuts with a slam, and Harry toes off his shoes and steers Louis over to the bed, helping him out of his shirt and laughing at the way he shimmies in a way that would probably be hot if he weren’t so fucked.

“Go to sleep.” He pushes the boy onto the mattress, and shucks off literally every bit of clothing he’s wearing, slapping the lamp off and barely remembering to set the alarm clock on the table before diving into the duvet next to him.

Louis groans and rolls over, gets hands on his chest and cuddles right up to him as if it’s a totally regular thing to do.

“Oh, you _do_ sleep nude.” He says, and wriggles against him, thigh pressed to his cock.

“Warned ya. Don’t worry, m’too whiskey dicked to get it up right now.” Harry yawns, curling an arm around Louis’ bare waist and holding him close. He’s all soft and warm and Harry’s eternally grateful that a single bed was requested. He’ll never question the elder’s decisions again.

“Did you even drink whiskey?” Louis asks, more of a sleepy slur than actual fully formed words.

“Can’t remember.” Harry replies. The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is Louis’ hand sneaking between them and tangling their fingers together.

He doesn’t mind.

-

The bed shifts and Harry shivers as the duvet is abruptly thrown off of him. He sits up blearily and looks at the green blinking numbers of the alarm clock, seeing that it’s not meant to go off for another half hour. He rolls onto his back and reaches up to scrub at his eye. At the same time, the unmistakable sound of sick hitting toilet water is heard from the connected room.

Harry winces in sympathy and stretches, climbing out of the bed and fishing a bottled water from the complementary station on the desk, then some medicine from his own duffel.

He takes some himself, and Louis steps out of the toilet a moment later and heads right for his own bag, rooting around in it and pulling his toothbrush.

“Don’t brush for a few minutes or you’ll scrub all your enamel off.” Harry says, stepping over and handing him medicine and the bottle of water. Louis yawns a thank you and returns to the toilet.

Harry opens up his large paper map that has the planned route marked in, and frowns when he hears Louis brushing immediately anyway.

He shrugs, figuring the boy can fuck up his teeth if he wishes, and pops the cap on his red pen, crosses out Liverpool with a smile. Day one was most definitely a success, he reckons.

-

Louis is almost terrifyingly good at recovering from a hangover, as it turns out, and they’ve barely been on the road for five minutes when he excitedly points out a random petrol station at the edge of Liverpool and demands they stop to grab snacks for the road.

Harry laughs and complies, fills the car while they’re there anyway, and steps inside to find Louis isn’t even at the snacks, but is tapping his chin thoughtfully at a rack of terribly ugly t-shirts.

“Harold, would I look better in pink or white?”

“Pink,” Harry answers immediately, “wait, you aren’t actually getting one of those, are you?”

Louis looks at him with an affronted slacked jaw, and yanks off one of the pink t shirts.

“Are you saying I’ll look shit in it?” He asks. Harry looks over the shirt. It’s a bright pink, nearly neon, and there’s a large poorly drawn cartoon fish printed on. The fish is holding an ice lolly in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and bubble letters underneath read ‘everything you need!’, a strange attempt at an advertisement for the petrol station.

“Um, I think you’ll look great in it, but it’s definitely not something to be desired.”

Louis waves him off and holds the shirt to his chest, not even checking the size before he moves on.

“Only thing that could get me dressed up during this trip is if Princess Diana herself—“ he cuts himself off to gasp excitedly, bouncing up to a second rack. This time, they’re horrible knit hats with hanging fuzzy balls.

Harry is helpless to do anything but follow along and try not to complain about the terrible overpriced clothing. Funny enough, none of it manages to lessen Louis’ fit-metre, and sort of all of it manages to increase Harry’s quickly growing infatuation.

-

“Okay!” Louis exclaims half an hour later, crumbling up his now-empty bag of crisps and tossing them back into the paper bag of snacks, before he adjusts his seatbelt and twists in the seat to look at him. The pink t-shirt is about a million sizes too big, the sleeves reaching his elbows. He’s wearing shorts, as well, so the folded hems of them are barely peeking from under the bottom of the shirt. There’s some sort of slip-on trainers on his feet, and the orange and blue knit hat just bring it all together.

He’s truly ridiculous. Harry wants to kiss him a lot.

“Question time. What’re you in uni for?” Louis asks, setting his chin on his fist. Even as Harry keeps his attention on the road, he can still feel the eyes boring holes into his face.

“Business management. What about you?” Harry asks immediately, all for getting to know the wild boy a little more. Or maybe a lot more. Maybe everything there is to know.

“Boring. I’m not in school.”

“Wha—your flat is _on_ campus?”

“I’m kipping with Niall’s friend Liam.”

Harry blinks in surprise, and reminds himself to stop at the next possible pay phone and grill Liam fucking Payne just like he did Niall for not introducing them the moment they met.

“Small world.”

“Anyway! Oasis or Blur?” Louis asks next, then pulls a juice from the paper bag like he’s going to use it as a weapon if he answers wrong.

“Elton John. You?” He peeks to the boy, finds his eyes narrowed in suspicion, but a smile quirking on his lips.

“Depeche Mode. Favourite food?”

“Sweetcorn.”

“Pizza. Film?”

“Pretty Woman.”

“Grease.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, grinning widely. Louis chuckles, reaching over and seemingly poking his dimple.

“Hm, what caused your most recent breakup?”

“Right into the dirt, I like it,” Harry laughs, “my last breakup happened when I took her to bed and very quickly realised I don’t care for vagina.”

Louis snorts, leaning back in his seat and sipping at his juice.

“Classy. Mine,” he stops abruptly, “weren’t you meant to turn back there?”

Harry frowns, keeping a hand on the wheel while he fumbles for the folded map tucked in the door compartment. He hands it to the boy who unfolds it.

“We can’t get lost or we’ll lose all of our sunlight.” Harry says, and Louis looks up at passing signs, then squints back at the map.

“False alarm, we’re good! Anyway, what’s your mum’s label do?” He asks, folding the map back up.

Harry grins and launches right into it, telling him all about the bands she helps produce and how he’s so excited to one day help artists grow into stardom, Louis’ effective dodge of the original question flying right over his head.

Louis nods along and listens intently, and Harry’s oblivious self never realises that the boy didn’t actually even open the map all the way to be able to check the route.

-

They reach Holmes Chapel by midday, and Harry gives Louis a nice tour of the small town, pointing at the school he attended as a kid, then to the playground where he broke his wrist, then he parks at the edge of the village where he and his mates used to fuck around and kick a football or sit next to the small creek in the grass and talk shit.

**(3)**

“So what you’re saying is you sat in a lovely field with some mates and watched the sunset together?” Louis asks, stepping alongside him as they make the small trek to the bit of rushing water ahead.

“Yeah, we usually talked about boys and helped each other learn makeup.” Harry replies, grinning as they reach the water. It’s a bit of a shit creek, small and barely shin-deep, but Louis makes an approving noise and plops right down into the grass, toeing off his trainers and dipping his toes into the flowing water because he’s a strange type who doesn’t wear socks.

Harry copies along, tucking his socks into his own shoes and leaning back on the heels of his hands with a smile.

“It’s so quiet here. Do you miss it, living in the city now?” Louis asks, lying back on his elbows and tilting his chin up to bask in the sun. He’s so pretty it should almost be illegal.

“Nah, I like the bustle of the city. I like noise.”

“Ah, bet you’ll love me then.” Louis laughs, peeking open an eye to catch him staring. Harry’s cheeks flush, but he doesn’t look away, instead lets his eyes drop to his lips.

“Bet so.” He says, smiling. There’s a beat, and then Louis’ hands in the grass start to pull at the blades. He’s at a constant state of motion, it seems, can’t sit still for too long before he has to move. Like a shark. It probably shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

“Harold, I hope you know whatever happens on this trip will end with it.”

Harry’s head tilts, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Louis opens his eyes fully, meets his, “whatever happens on this trip happens, but you can’t fall in love with me.”

Harry laughs, incredulous.

“How presumptuous! But also, why not?” He tries not to seem disappointed. God, they haven’t even shared a fucking kiss and he’s getting broken up with.

“Because when we get back to Manchester you’ll never see me again.”

“Oh yeah? And what if _you_ fall in love with _me_?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Louis says, and Harry watches his throat work as their staring contest of sorts continues. He wants to kiss him.

“But during the trip, whatever happens can happen? So, like, a summer fling?”

“Don’t even start quoting Grease, I know you’re headed that direction.” Louis’ eyes narrow, nose pinching.

“Why not? You’ll fall in love with me? Become hopelessly devoted to me?” Harry grins, knowing his dimples are on full display and knowing Louis’ looking at them.

“Fuck up and kiss me already.” Louis sighs, head shaking exasperatedly. Harry giggles gleefully but doesn’t hesitate, setting a hand in the grass between them and cupping Louis’ cheek, pressing their lips together for the first time.

Louis tastes like summertime and cranberry juice. Harry presses him gently back onto the grass and leans at his side, giving him a proper seeing to snog, their toes tangling together in the cool water rushing by.

He tilts his head better and his hand curves around the boy’s head, into his soft hair, knocking off the terrible orange and blue hat.

Louis’ hand sets on his chest, but he doesn’t push him away. Instead it just slides over his shirt, feeling him up.

Harry’s heart stutters. He separates their lips, but only to lean down and nose up the boy’s neck, finding a soft spot under his ear and latching on.

“You kiss like you’re desperate for it even though you’ve only known me for three days.” Louis says challengingly, but his voice shakes as Harry works a love bite under his ear.

“Seems to be working just fine.” He says, then nips him a bit. The boy tilts his head for more. Instead of giving it to him, Harry leans back, just enough for their eyes to meet.

He’s not allowed to fall in love with him, and yet looking down at him reminds Harry of cliché poems about love at first sight. His wet lips remind him of candy floss. His eyelashes, long and feminine, remind him of the feeling he gets when he’s sharing a hug.

“Have you ever been to the beach?” Harry asks, can’t look away from his eyes once they lock. Louis’ fingers tickle over his arm, feeling.

“No.” He answers, voice soft and eyebrow lifting just a bit.

“The ocean would envy your eyes.” He touches his fingers to the boy’s cheek, watches a pretty pink seep into them. The colour only makes his eyes bluer, somehow. Swimming with emotions and stories Harry’s not been told yet.

Louis opens his mouth, but no witty remark comes out. Instead, it clamps back shut and he just reaches up his hand, pulls him back in for another kiss. Harry hums appreciatively, tongue slipping out to taste him.

Then the boy plants his hands on his chest and pushes him off. Harry goes, rolling over so they’re side by side, looking up at the scattered clouds while the sun soaks into their skin.

“What do you think happens when we die?” Louis asks, after five minutes of comfortable cloud watching. Harry reaches across the grass between them, finds the lad’s fingers to tangle with his.

“Dunno. I grew up going to mass but I’m not so sure I believe in heaven anymore. Maybe it’s just nothing. What about you?”

“I’d like to think we would come back as our favourite thing in the whole world,” Harry thinks he’s having a laugh, but when he turns his head to look, Louis’ eyebrows are pinched together, eyes watching the sky, “like, maybe not even a living thing. Just become whatever brought us the most joy, then we get to spend our next life bringing someone else that joy.”

“I like it. What would you be?” Harry can’t look back to the sky, now, not when he gets to see the lovely side profile of the boy’s thoughtful expression. Their hands held together in the soft grass.

“A football,” Louis answers without hesitation, “nearly all of my fondest memories throughout life include some version of a kick around with me mates. Though it might be a shit life, getting kicked constantly until I pop.”

“Well, you’ve still got plenty of time, your answer might change even in the next five years.” Harry turns on his side, then, folding his free hand under his head. Louis’ face finally turns to meet his, and he rolls as well to match his position. For a minute, there’s nothing but the sound of rushing water at their feet and birds in the distance. Louis’ eyes saying something his mouth isn’t.

“What would you be?” He asks, looking genuinely interested. Harry isn’t used to the way Louis actually pays attention to him. He’s always been a bit of a slow talker, and pretty much everyone he’s met get bored with him, annoyed if he’s telling a story and doesn’t get to the point for ages.

For how quick paced and impatient Louis has proven to be in the last three days, he sure isn’t reacting that way with him. Harry wants to think it might make him special.

He tries not to get his hopes up, remembers he isn’t allowed to get attached to this fling.

“Maybe a cat? I had one growing up and she used to always come hop on my lap and purr when I was sad. She cheered me up all the time.”

Louis smiles, soft and careful and something Harry can’t perceive.

“What cheers you up now?”

“Dunno. Suppose I’ve been too busy with coursework to be sad. And now I’ve got you to distract me.” He squeezes their hands. Louis’ smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Only until we get back.” He says, and Harry can’t resist the urge to sigh dejectedly.

“You could always not fuck off soon as we return, you know. Are you going to give me a _reason_ why I won’t see you again?”

“I’m leaving Manchester. Flying out and definitely won’t be going back.”

“You going to travel the world?”

“Something like that.” Louis murmurs, and there’s something dark in his eyes. Something that flashes in them quicker than he can hide it. It makes Harry’s stomach flip. Before he can ask, there’s lips on his once more.

Ah, well. He has four weeks to learn everything that makes Louis Tomlinson tick. For right now, he most definitely isn’t going to pull away from a kiss.

-

Somewhere between Stoke-on-Trent and Wolverhampton, Louis reaches over the centre console and takes his hand.

Harry sends him a smile, but Louis doesn’t catch it, eyebrows furrowed as he drags the pad of his pointer over Harry’s fingers. For such a loud boy, he sure gets quiet and thoughtful often. Doesn’t voice what it is, though, which is endlessly frustrating.

“You alright?” He asks, can’t keep quiet when he can clearly tell something’s up.

“Can we stop at Doncaster at some point?” Louis asks, keeps petting over his hand and looking at it like it’s the most interesting thing of all time.

“Yeah, we’re passing by on the way to York. Should be easy enough to stop in. What for?”

“My family’s there. I think I should see them before I fuck off.”

“You weren’t planning to?” Harry asks incredulously. Louis pinches the back of his hand, but doesn’t provide an explanation or defence.

Something squirmy and wrong settles into his gut. He isn’t sure if it’s the stagnant air that’s suddenly poisoning the space between them, or perhaps some sort of intuition, but he has a sudden strong urge to make it better. Give Louis something to smile about instead of the weird little pinch of his eyebrows.

They were meant to keep driving, stay the night in Birmingham, but Harry takes the next exit, starts off towards Cannock.

Louis doesn’t seem to notice. The boy lies his head back against the seat, and their hands never stray.

-

He doesn’t notice all the way up until he pulls into the Cannock Centre AONB visitor centre lot. He’d been mostly dozing in the seat next to him, but finally sits up with a frown.

“Where we at?” He asks, eyes narrowing against the evening light as he looks around the mostly empty lot. There aren’t many people around, but then again it is just a random Wednesday.

“Grab your sunnies and c’mon.” Harry steps out of the car and is sure to lock it, pocketing his keys and stretching his arms out a bit as Louis rounds the front, sunglasses perched on his nose and tucking his other slip-on trainer onto his foot.

He’s devastatingly cute, a low scoop t shirt hanging from his shoulders and jean shorts that fall just above his knees. Completely throwing it off, he’s tucked on the hideous orange and blue petrol station cap.

“You’re gonna get hot in that thing.” Harry laughs, pointing to it. Louis shoots him a glare, tugging on the hanging fluffy balls to make sure it’s secure.

“That _thing_ is named Jerry.”

“You named your hat? Also, is that the ring Niall got me?” Harry reaches out and catches Louis’ hand, finding it is in fact his ring. It’s the one that’s too large and too fancy for a regular casual setting, silver with a square ruby gem smacked onto the face. He normally only wears it for dressy events or maybe dates, and Louis’ got it tucked on his thumb.

“Finder’s keepers.” Louis quips, then skips past him and starts towards the trees. Harry turns to keep up with him, falling into step beside him as they begin the walking trail into the forest.

“I had that in a box way at the bottom of my bag.”

“And?”

“When did you steal it?”

“I _found_ it while you were showering this morning. We out here so you can axe murder me?” Louis asks, hands swinging at his sides as he peers over to him with a smirk.

“Maybe if I had an axe. Sadly I don’t, so we’re just here to sight see. Do you often root through people’s bags when you’ve only just met them?”

“Of course. How else would I trust you?”

“Well you’re still asking if I’m going to murder you, so I’m not sure it worked.”

“Fair point. Do you hear that?” Louis stops dead in his tracks, and Harry stumbles a bit as he attempts to mirror the movement. His heart skips a bit, eyes flying around them as he’s suddenly very aware how alone they are in the middle of a nature preserve that likely has plenty of wild animals.

“Hear what?” He asks, instinctively reaching out for the boy just in case they need to run.

“It’s this way.” Louis murmurs, then steps off of the trail, in-between the trees and through the bush. Harry’s hand falls short.

“Louis! I don’t think we’re suppose to deviate from the trail.” Harry says even as he follows him, paying very close attention to each marker they pass so they won’t get lost.

“Life’s too short to follow the rules, Curly.” Louis responds breezily. They walk for a few metres, and then Harry _does_ hear it. It sounds like rushing water. Much more than the shitty creek they dipped their toes in earlier.

“How could you hear that back there?” He asks in confusion, and Louis just shrugs. They round a few more trees, and it comes into view. It’s a waterfall. Not the largest one he’s ever seen, but it’s quite lovely all the same. The water falls loudly from a low cliff above, and slaps onto rocks below, where it trickles into a small creek which trails off to the left.

“Wow. It’s pretty.” Harry comments, stepping up behind Louis, who’s stopped at the edge of the area, toes of his shoes just where the grass meets the water. Most of it is flowing away, but a tiny bit lingers on the pebbles below, rippling.

“I want to stand in it.” The boy says, then reaches down to yank off his shoes.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Those rocks look pretty slippery, you could fall and bust your skull.”

“Well, dying in a place as pretty as this wouldn’t be too bad.” Louis shrugs, and takes Jerry from his head, placing it on his shoes, but otherwise stays fully dressed as he tiptoes into the ankle-deep water, making a pleased noise at the temperature.

Harry curses softly and toes off his own shoes, before following in after him. Immediately, the ankles of his jeans are soaked, but he steps up behind Louis and takes his hand. Just in case he decides to slip.

The boy doesn’t pull away, just continues on through the shallow water. Louis lets go only when they reach the waterfall, and then he climbs up onto the rocks that definitely look a bit slippery, and finds one wide enough to sit on. He does, and the water pours over him and soaks him completely within seconds.

Harry bites his lip nervously, but can’t help the fluttering in his gut when Louis starts to laugh. It’s a joyous carefree sort of laugh, one that reminds him of children who are yet to know pain or heartbreak. The kind of laugh that comes from genuine happiness.

He climbs in after him, sits on the rock next to him, and watches the glee, desperately blinking through water in his eyes to see. Louis is grinning, face up against the onslaught of water, hands held up as well to feel it beating onto him. It’s rather cool, as well, despite the warmth of the summer air.

“You’re terrifyingly comfortable with your own mortality.” Harry exclaims over the noise. Louis’ chin tilts down and he _giggles_ , reaching over for him and yanking him close.

“What’s life if I’m not enjoying it?” He replies, then kisses him. Harry tucks a hand around his waist, slipping under his soaked shirt and up his smooth skin. Their lips smack together wetly, hair sticking to their faces, and it’s almost like they’re kissing in the rain.

Harry never wants it to end. Louis pulls away, and laughs again, but his teeth chatter as he does.

“How is this water cold?” He asks, lips pink.

“It’s not _that_ cold.” Harry replies with a chuckle, but takes his hand, carefully getting them both up from the rocks.

They step out from under the water, and they’re soaked head to toe. Harry shakes his hair out a bit, shoving it over his head, and turns to see Louis watching, smiling with his lip between his teeth.

“What?” Harry asks, reaching down and squeezing out the front of his shirt.

“You..aren’t so terrible to look at.”

Harry blinks, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that an attempt at a _compliment_ , Lewis?” He asks, and he can feel his smile is definitely too wide. Louis rolls his eyes and kicks at the water, splashing him a bit.

“Fuck off before I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back. I can’t believe you think I’m hot—“

“I never said that!” Louis shrieks, then kicks at the water again. Harry smirks, and then lunges, going for the throat.

-

“I reckon this is grounds for assault charges.” Louis muses, lying star-fished on the hotel bed two hours later as he pokes at the bruise on his arm.

Harry runs a towel through his just-washed hair and snorts.

“I’ve got twice as many, so if anyone’s pressing charges it’s me.” He informs, then shoves the boy over to crawl into the duvet. Louis sighs heavily but follows along, tucking into the warmth and yawning.

“Nah, you attacked first. I was merely acting in self defence.”

“I gave you a lovebite so you tackled me and shoved mud down my pants. I’m not so sure that’s a fair fight.” Harry says, eyes slipping closed. They’re not pressed together, but he expects Louis will cuddle in soon enough.

But when five minutes pass and the boy is still across the wide expansion of the bed, Harry reaches out blindly, tugs on whatever limb his hand touches first.

“Get your fit arse over here. Thought life was too short not to cuddle?” He complains, sighing contently when Louis complies, shuffling up against him and tangling them together.

“Just making sure you still want me.”

“Have you seen yourself? Reckon I’ll want you forever.”

It quiets down, and Harry thinks he must’ve fallen asleep, as he’s definitely nearly there himself, when abruptly Louis’ hand shifts from his chest, drags down his torso, and then his thin fingers wrap around the base of his cock. Because Harry’s a smart lad who sleeps nude around boys he’s barely just met.

Harry’s eyes fly open, and Louis’ face is just right there, cheek against the pillow and a smirk on his lips.

“What’re you d-doing?” Harry’s words stutter as Louis drags his hand up to pump him. It’s dry, but it’s warm and also _Louis_ ’ fucking hand around him, so Harry fattens up so quickly he feels dizzy with it.

“I wondered what you’d look like when you come, so I decided to make it happen so I could see.”

“You don’t really think about your decisions, do you?” Harry asks, voice a terrible shake.

Louis raises an eyebrow, but instead of answering, takes his hand away and spits into it. Harry offhandedly thinks it’d be gross, until there’s a _wet_ hand surrounding him, so much better than the dry drag before. He shudders into the sheets, reaching out so grasp Louis’ hip, pull him closer.

“I keep catching you staring at me, y’know. At my arse, mostly. Do you think about it often?”

“Your arse?” Harry asks, eyes fluttering when Louis swipes his thumb over the slit.

“Yeah. Do you wonder what it’d feel like to be inside me?” Louis’ mouth is _filthy_ , and Harry twitches in his hand, precome blurting out immediately.

“All the fucking time.” Harry admits, groaning when Louis’ hand does this twisty thing that almost hurts with how good it feels.

“Reckon I’ll let you find out soon.”

“F-fuck, I’d love that.”

“It’s a date.” Louis says, then leans in and presses kisses up his jaw. His hand speeds up, and when his teeth nip at the sensitive skin above his collarbone, Harry writhes in the sheets and comes, moaning through it. He can feel Louis lift from his neck to watch, but he can’t force his eyes open as they roll a bit with the sensation.

Louis tugs him through it, then sits up and yanks his shirt off. He uses it to clean up the mess.

“You’re incredible.” Harry breathes, reaches over to get hands on him the moment he’s cleaned, then reaching down to return the favour.

“I’ve been told.” Louis replies, but slaps his hand before it can snake between them. Harry pouts, eyes flickering up to his. He doesn’t even have to ask about it, the boy must see the question etched over his face.

“I’m gonna let you see how I look when I come later.” He explains, then cuddles up to his side. Tangled together, Harry can feel the hard-on pressed to his thigh, but Louis just breathes steadily against his skin and shuts his eyes.

It’s strange, but he’s learned to never expect anything normal with this particular boy, so Harry wraps his arms around him and goes to sleep.

-

“Where are we headed today, cap’n?” Louis shouts, and Harry barely opens his eyes before there’s a body springing on him. He groans drowsily and reaches over to shove him off. Louis only clings onto the sheets, so it’s a futile struggle.

“Bath.” Harry chokes, and Louis lifts off of him but not fully off, giggling like a madman while he straddles his waist.

“I’ve never been to Bath. At what point do we start having fun on this trip?”

“Fuck off.” Harry grins, blinking against the light of the morning because Louis’ apparently opened the drapes as far as they can go and turned on every available light in the room.

“I’m just sayin’, I might ditch you in London if you don’t show me a good time.”

“What makes you think we’re going to London?”

“Um, your big arse map that outlines the exact route we’re going? Which, by the way, why’d you skip out of Birmingham and come here instead?”

Harry touches at the boy’s delicious thighs which are cradling him. He doesn’t know exactly how to say it without sounding like an idiot.

“You seemed off so I wanted to show you something pretty.” He says the blatant truth anyway, wincing right after. He can feel his own cheeks heat up, but Louis stops his constant wriggling and a smile quirks his lips.

“Stop trying to charm me.”

“M’not. It’s the truth. Why, are you charmed?” Harry grins, the one he knows makes his eyes glimmer, and Louis reaches down and waves his hands in front of his face like he’s trying to block out the visual.

“You have no shame, Styles.”

“ _I_ have no shame? You told me you have no gag reflex the day after we met and then proceeded to spend a hundred pounds from my own wallet at a petrol station.”

“You have no proof of that.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure when I receive my bank statement later this month—“

“No proof!” Louis cries, then jumps off of him and scurries right out of the room. If Harry had to guess, the boy likely has his wallet and is going to spend half of his cash at a vending machine.

Maybe he isn’t allowed to fall in love with him, but he’s definitely not going to let this one go.

-

Bath is quite beautiful. The buildings khaki in colour and roman styled. The royal crescent hotel curves around a beautiful lawn of green grass, trees separating it from the rest of the world. They check into the hotel and immediately leave the lovely room for an explore.

At first, they just walk the streets. Obviously, Harry plans to have a bath at some point, but for the time being he just enjoys the view and the company. They have a bite in a café, and are still sipping at iced coffees when Louis spots people in dress-wear stood around one of the various nice buildings.

“An art gallery,” He says, “let’s go have a peek.”

“Do you even like art?” Harry asks, but doesn’t oppose as they cross the street and smile at the guests as they pass through into the building. It’s air conditioned, so he’s quite content.

“Ah, yes. This piece really speaks to me on a personal level.” Louis says with a strange posh accent, tapping at his chin while they come to a stop in front of a large canvas. Harry looks up at it, and can’t help but laugh. It’s just a drawing of a fucking shoe. The entire gallery is just drawings of shoes. Not even in interesting colours or positions. Just various shoes sat on the same floor.

“This art is exceedingly boring.” Harry leans in to whisper into the boy’s ear. Louis giggles, eyes mirthful when they flicker up to his.

“Let’s make it more interesting.” He says, then takes his hand, tugging him along as he searches around. Turns out he was looking for the toilet, and when he steps inside he checks the stalls and locks the door when he finds they’re empty.

“What’re we doing?” Harry asks, unsure why he’s whispering.

“Why’re you whispering?” Louis asks, and yet he is as well. He looks up to the ceilings for some reason, and then reaches into his pocket, yanking out a lighter and a small tin, and suddenly Harry understands.

“Oh, I see.” He grins, stepping closer as Louis tucks the joint into his mouth and flicks at the lighter. Harry takes him by the hip, tugs him in and keeping a hold of him. If asked, he will simply explain his need for a front row seat.

Louis Tomlinson smoking should not be as attractive as it is.

“Any chance you’ll return the ring you found?” Harry asks, watching the ruby glimmer in the shit dim light of the loo.

“Do you find yourself sentimental? Things are just things, in the end.” Louis hands him the joint, and Harry takes it with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Is this your weird philosophical shit or are you high from one puff?”

“I’m always philosophical, Harold.” Louis says, eyes on his mouth while he smokes. It makes something curl in his gut, hope that the boy feels the same watching him smoke as he does. Maybe he affects the lad just as much.

Maybe Louis doesn’t want to leave at the end of this trip either.

“I don’t think you’ve called me by my real name a single time since we’ve met.” Harry replies, slips his fingers into Louis’ waistband and pets the soft skin above his arse. It’s sort of hard not to when his hand is already there. The boy doesn’t complain, anyway, only leans in a bit closer.

“Real names are for serious situations. I’m not one for serious.”

“And yet you bring up death every other breath.”

“I do not—“

“You say life is too short for this and that, and you keep saying shit like you’ve just done. Things are just things, what does that even mean?”

“It means that you shouldn’t rely on materialistic items. In the end, you’ll just have you and what you’ve surrounded yourself with in your life. I think it would be sad to be dying and all you have is silver and gold.”

“You don’t strive for that?” Harry asks. The joint sizzles away between his fingers, eyebrows furrowed. The conversation has taken a dark turn. A rare turn, giving him insight to this interesting boy’s mind. Something he may never see otherwise. Neither of them reach in for the pot, eyes boring into the other’s.

“When you lie there dying, do you want to look over and see jewellery, or do you want to see the person you love most?”

Harry swallows thickly, heart fluttering in his chest.

“Suppose I’d take the family, when you put it that way. I just don’t see how wanting my ring back coincides with being on my death bed.”

Louis finally takes the joint again, sucks from it deeply before reaching up and touching at Harry’s chest. A plain chained necklace sits there.

“Think of it this way, then. When we started this trip, you came and picked me up from Liam’s flat with your Porsche and your two bags. I assume you have much more, right? An abundance of clothes at your huge flat. You live alone off campus because you can afford to, even as a second year.”

“How do you know that?”

“You walk around with a sort of cockiness. Even though you’re kind at heart and definitely a dork, you still depend on these things you have to carry you through.”

“Are you saying I’ve had it easy?”

“No. I’m saying you don’t have perspective.” Louis corrects, eyes steely. Harry frowns, unsure if he’s meant to be offended or not. He doesn’t pull away, all the same. Isn’t sure there’s much this boy could say that would make him want to put distance between them.

“And you have perspective?”

“Yes. I’m enjoying my life for what it is. Every single item I own sits back in that hotel room. I don’t depend on them for anything. I merely use them to keep me warm.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“You said the clothes I bought at the petrol station weren’t to be desired, and yet you contradict that statement every time you think about kissing me.” Louis says. Harry’s eyes shoot up from his lips, cheeks heating. He isn’t sure why he flushes, as he’s made his attraction quite clear by now, and yet he feels almost ashamed for some reason.

“How am I meant to know I’m not enjoying life to the fullest if I don’t know what I’m missing?” Harry asks, taking a drag when Louis holds it to his mouth. The boy smiles, in a strangely knowing way.

“You learn when there’s someone to show you. Tell me, how would you react if I took this ring off and flushed it right down that toilet back there?”

Harry’s hands tighten on him instinctively. It seems to be answer enough.

“At some point, you’re going to have to let go of everything you’ve ever known, and I’d really hate to find out you’ve become just another rich guy working for a label. Fallen into drugs and surrounded by fake people.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions about the business I’m going into.”

“Assumptions or observations?”

“Why’re you being so, like, weird?”

Louis smiles, but it’s a bit short, eyes searching his. Eventually he just sighs heavily like he’s giving up, and sucks the last bit of the joint he can manage, before putting it out in sink water and tossing it.

“Just forget it.” He turns to reach for the door but Harry stops him, pulling him back with a frown. He’s practically receiving a gift. A special moment where Louis shows his true intelligence. Attempts to give him some wisdom, and Harry can’t get with it.

“No, I’m sorry. Please explain it to me.” 

Louis bites at the inside of his lip and turns back, touching fingers to his jaw. He leans in and presses one single kiss there.

“The thing that you want most in the world will never be able to be bought with money. Why waste time buying expensive cars and jewellery instead of using whatever time you have left to really search out what will make you happy?”

“What’s the thing that will make you happy?”

“That’s something you find out once you’ve seen your fair share of life. Loss, for example.” He talks like they’re far more than two years apart in age.

“So you don’t even know what it is, then?”

“I do.” Louis says, and Harry’s brows stay furrowed for a few moments longer before he realises what is being said. Louis’ eyes are glazed over a bit, pupils blown from the high, but said high doesn’t seem to cover the pain in his eyes as well.

“So if I never see loss, I’ll never find what makes me happy?”

“And now we’ve come full circle. This is me trying to give you advice. I know it’s just a fucking ring, but it means a lot more, yeah? I hope you never have to experience much loss, but you will. Everyone does eventually. I’m just trying to ease that a bit. Help you along so when it does come, you won’t have regret. When you sit with your mother while she’s at old age, you’ll be comforted knowing you did what you could to keep her happy, and if you keep it up, perhaps you’ll have your own son do the same for you.”

“What do you regret?” Harry asks, voice barely a whisper. Louis’ eyes flash and at once he backs away.

“Didn’t you say something about roman roof baths?” He asks.

“Lou—“

“I’m really for that bath now, Curly.” Louis turns to the door and unlocks it, swings it open and effectively ends the conversation.

Harry stays back for a moment, hand to his pounding heart, absolutely overwhelmed. Not just because of the conversation, but because he’d mostly been joking around about falling in love with the boy.

Now, he recognises the feeling he’s experiencing, and wonders if perhaps those poets and songwriters were right about love at first sight.

-

It’s a two hour drive down the M5 to reach Devon from Bath. They spend the entire thing in silence.

Of course, it’s because Louis spent all morning yawning and fell right asleep as soon as they hit the freeway, lulled by the vibration of the moving car, but Harry still feels the shift between them. He isn’t sure exactly what it is, but it doesn’t feel bad. He feels like he’s taken a look into a part of Louis that the boy may not have wanted him to see. Something feels different ever since their confusing conversation in that gallery the day before.

A dark part that he hides under spontaneity and a seemingly reckless attitude. He isn’t reckless. He isn’t stupid with his own life. He’s _enjoying_ it. He’s living in the moment. He’s seen loss somehow and has decided to reduce all of his belongings to a single duffel and fuck off around the country with a guy he’s just met.

One thing is for certain, Harry is most definitely looking forward to when they stop at Doncaster on the way up to York. Finally meet the family he says resides there. Maybe he will get the answers he’s afraid to ask. See first hand whatever regret Louis holds. Whatever regret he so wants Harry to avoid.

He’s like a mystery novel with no plot, just a clue here and a snippet there. No tangible information to piece together what exactly makes him the way he is.

Harry wants to know everything. He wants to know it all, and then he wants to pull him close and never let him go. Not waste the pleasure of knowing it all. He wants to make Louis smile and forget whatever it is that makes him blank out sometimes. Whatever it is that hurts him.

“Lou, wake up.” Harry reaches over, pats his thigh. Louis stirs, wiping at his eyes as he looks to him.

“Whassit?” He mumbles, glancing to the small backseat like he’s making sure they’re still moving. 

“Have a look.” Harry gestures to the windscreen, and Louis twists back around, and makes a small noise of surprise.

Devon is beautiful. The freeway runs right through the countryside, and fields of grass or crops expand as far as the eyes can see, trees scattered along the shoulder and the sun lighting it all up. It’s vibrant greens in every direction.

“Wow. Don’t get this kind of view as a Manc, do we?”

“No, we sure don’t. Fancy a picnic?” Harry doesn’t wait for confirmation, pulling off into a dirt road and parking haphazardly. They’re mostly reduced to silly grins as Harry collects their bagged crisps and canned cola and shitty petrol station sandwiches he’d picked up in their pit stop in Wellington. Louis clutches onto the single blanket they took along, a large knit one Harry’s nan had gifted him once.

They find a lovely spot in a canola field, surrounded by yellow as they share crisps and murmurs observations of the landscape. It’s with fully bellies and forming tans that they share a kiss, right there in the middle of nowhere Devon, not a stoplight nor person in sight. Just them and the attraction they feel.

The giddiness of it all carries throughout the small stroll they take afterwards, throughout the hand-holding they have back in the car, throughout the drive to a small holiday cottage Harry finds to rent out for the night.

“You aren’t a terrible date, H, I must admit.” Louis says as they step into aforementioned cottage. It’s quaint and lovely and probably really enjoyable to look at, but Harry can’t look away from his company.

“Tell me how to get perspective.” He blurts, barely stepped into the front room of the cottage. Louis turns slowly, eyebrow raised and duffel still on his shoulder.

“It’s not exactly something I can teach you.”

“I just—I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve spent as long as I can remember relying on the money and the _things_ and I want whatever it is you have. Whatever it is that makes you so carefree and happy.”

“If you think I am carefree and happy, I’m afraid you may be a little more naïve than I originally thought.” Louis sets his duffel down on the small sofa in the front room. With every step he takes closer, Harry’s heart beats a little faster.

“I just mean, I want to stop caring so much about what I have. I want to be on my death bed and have no regrets. Tell me what to do. How do I enjoy life?”

“I only know what works for me, I can’t—“

“Try to. Just, like, give me the advice I was too confused to ask for yesterday.”

Louis comes to a stop right in front of him, toes to his, and peers up at him. He’s heartbreakingly pretty, hair tickling at his shoulders and cheekbones high. He’s on the side of thin that Harry thinks may mean he has a high metabolism and can never eat enough, but it gives him these deep cut collarbones that make his mouth water.

**(4)**

“You’ve wanted me since the night we met. Why haven’t you gone for it? Are you afraid of rejection?”

“I..I don’t know.” Harry gulps audibly. He knew Louis knew how hot he is for him, but to have it said out loud like that makes him feel a little squirmy.

“If you were to die right now, this very second, dont you think it would have been a waste? To not go for it?”

“You never went for it either—“

“Haz, I literally jerked you off in the hotel day before last. I’ve told you life’s too short for this and for that and yet you still hesitate.” Louis crosses his arms, then, and Harry takes a deep breath, feeling on edge for some reason.

“So, what, the secret to enjoy life is to have sex?”

“No, silly boy. I’m telling you to stop hesitating. Spend every day as if it’s your last. So if you want something, try your hardest to get it. Don’t sit around waiting for cues or whatever the fuck—“

“I want you.” Harry breathes, deeply true and without shame. He sees now what the boy is saying. Why he seems so blunt and carefree. He is simply doing what he wants. Making decisions as he thinks them up. Making Harry come just because he fleetingly wonders what he’d look like doing so. Living in the moment.

“I know. And yet you’re still just standing there when I’m close enough to smell your stupid expensive cologne and we’re just wasting time talking—“ Louis’ words fall away when Harry leans down, closing the small gap between them for a bruising kiss.

It’s the sort of kiss he’s been thinking about since the moment they met. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and presses them together everywhere possible, and licks into his mouth as if he’s never tasted anything sweeter.

He hasn’t.

Their lips only part to yank off clothing, and they don’t even make it to the bedroom, falling onto the couch in a heap of limbs and semis as Louis fumbles blindly for his duffel. Harry pulls away from his lips, but continues on down his skin, latching right onto those collarbones and sucking bruises into them.

“Fucking reach the bag f’me you gangly fuck.” Louis bites out, other hand absolutely tangled in his curls. Harry complies, handing him the duffel without letting up his mouth for even a moment.

“You taste..so good.” He slurs, nosing down the boy’s chest and latching onto his nipple. Louis moans, the sound high and airy. It’s beautiful.

“Here, find somethin’ to do with your hands.” The boy says, then presses a small bottle of lube to his palm. Harry laughs breathlessly into his skin.

“You brought lube onto my innocent road trip, Lou?” He asks, but his smile turns a bit choked when Louis arches up into him, legs spreading under him. _For_ him.

“Yeah, you gonna use it or what?”

Harry nods, reaching down and hooking a hand into his shorts, yanking them down. Louis’ fucking gone starkers underneath, and he’s hard and pretty and curved and Harry’s never been so desperate in his life.

“No knickers today?” He asks, sounding far more sarcastic than he feels. Louis huffs a laugh and tugs on his hair.

“Nah, stuck ‘em in Liam’s sheets to freak him out when he least expects it.”

“Shame.” Harry mutters, then darts down between his legs and licks a fat stripe up the underside of his cock. Louis’ eyes watch him darkly, jaw slacking. Harry’s fingers coated, he gives him one of those as well. He’s wonderfully responsive, as it turns out, making breathy little noises with every touch, muscles jumping under his skin. Harry can’t look away. Couldn’t look away for anything, probably.

“I’m gonna come if you keep that up.” Louis chokes, sounding like a warning. Harry lifts off of his cock with a wet smack, adding a second finger as he turns to his thigh instead, giving him marks there as well. He wants to mark him up in every available spot.

He scissors his fingers, crawls back up to kiss him. Louis’ just as wriggly as he always is, pressing back against his fingers and then up against his chest like he can’t decide which option he wants more.

“You bottom often?” Harry asks, watching the flush of the boy’s cheeks as he’s pleasured. It’s a pretty sight.

“Why? Does the thought make you jealous?”

“Course it does.”

“Mm, I had maybe four or five guys in the week before we met.”

Harry lifts up from his skin, eyes narrowed. Louis’ grinning, lip between his teeth. He giggles like he can’t even keep up the act, and Harry’s quick to follow.

“You’re so annoying.” He complains, looking down between them to catch a sight of his three fingers tucked into the boy. He’s tight, and his eyebrows are screwed together like he can barely handle it. If Harry had to guess, he thinks maybe Louis hasn’t been with anyone in a while, actually. Not like this at least.

“Hurry up and shut me up, then.”

Harry complies, curling his fingers and beckoning them against his prostate, shutting him up with a kiss. Louis whimpers into his mouth, reaches back into the duffel still on the floor next to them.

“Get-get.” He mumbles against his lips. When Harry pulls away, Louis slaps at his hand until he retracts his fingers as well. He’s glistening, almost. Glowing in a way. Maybe he’s just stunning, or maybe it’s the soft lighting of the cottage.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Louis mutters, then holds a condom to his mouth and rips the packaging open with his teeth, spitting the rubbish to the floor. It’s so hot that Harry groans, runs a hand up his torso. Once again he’s reminded how thin the boy is, collarbones deep, hips jutting out a bit, ribs pressing against his skin with every harsh inhale. How does he eat so much and still manage to look like that?

Maybe Harry would think about it more if he weren’t abruptly distracted by the hand on his cock. Louis rolls the condom onto him, eyes staring right into his. Harry rocks forward into the sensation, but isn’t given more than just prep.

“Take it slow. You aren’t the smallest thing in the world.” He then says, settling back against the cushion and blinking expectantly. Harry grins widely, nudging his head against the boy’s hole.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” He mocks, then presses into him before he can come up with a witty comeback.

Louis’ breath catches, hand reaching out and gripping his arms. Harry presses his head down between them, fitting their lips together once or twice in hopes to distract them both. Louis from the pain and himself from the insanely tight warm heat surrounding him.

By the time he’s nuzzled up to the base, Louis’ legs are squeezing around him, fingernails digging into his back.

“Okay.” The boy murmurs, eyes closed. His hair is fanning out over the cushion. Harry wants to do this forever, probably.

He pulls back only to press back in. The sensation makes them both moan, and Louis scratches at his back. The pain is so terribly good, so he does it again, a slow deep drag inside of him.

“C’mon, c’mon.” The elder whines, hips lifting up to meet his. He sounds like he’s begging for something.

“Tell me.” Harry requests, lips dragging wetly up his neck.

“Harder, baby. Like you mean it.” Louis says. It’s almost a whisper, but it’s crystal clear. Vulnerable, almost. Like something he would never repeat if asked. Harry groans and reaches down to pull him up a bit, legs wound around his waist a bit higher, then he just goes for it. Hard and fast, skin slapping with every thrust, the couch shifting when he drives in particularly strong.

Louis gets louder in a way he thought could happen but still never expected, mouth slacking and everything escaping. He curses between every intelligible noise, toes cracking as they curl behind them.

“Fuck, you’re so—everything.” Harry gasps, unsure how to verbalise the exact feeling he’s experiencing at that moment. Louis’ eyes suddenly open, finding his. They’re so blue, emotions flying through them, nearly hidden by his blown pupils.

“M’close.” He says, voice choking with the movement, chin lifting as he arches a bit, but he doesn’t look away. Harry doesn’t either, reaching above them and clinging onto the armrest as he pants with the exertion.

“Yeah?” Harry responds, and reaches down to drag a thumb up his cock. With the combination of both sensations, Louis’ face pinches and he comes between them. Harry fucks into him over and over, and when the boy starts to shake from overstimulation, he follows with a deep groan.

For a few minutes, they find it hard to move. Harry slips out of him and tries to catch his breath. Louis’ fingers card through his hair, and it’s rather lovely.

“About time.” He says, sounding rather pleased.

“What do you mean ‘about time’? I’ve only known you for five days.”

“Yeah, well I expected this to happen the first night. Should’ve seen your face when I was sitting on your lap at the party.” Louis sounds like he’s smiling. Harry lifts his head to confirm, finds twinkling eyes and up-curved lips. The cheeky fuck.

“Am I really so obvious?”

“I’m afraid so. You’re quite expressive. It’s cute but you won’t be able to lie for shit. Budge up so I can shower.”

“Can I join?”

Louis grins, watching him remove the condom.

“Definitely not.” He says, then takes Harry’s hand and leads him right to said shower.

Round two is going to be so damn good.

-

Cornwall is wonderful. They spend hours exploring the fishing village of Cadgwith, then taking their time around St. Ives. They sample Cornish pasties and walk along the coast of lizard peninsula and talk about whether a piranha or an electric eel would win in a battle.

Louis wins the debate when he takes a sweet bun from the bakery bag and gives a rather spew-y performance of how the piranha would shred an eel.

Harry watches on and for the first time in years, itches for a pen to scribble down a poem.

It’s something he grew up doing. If he were confident, he may call them songs, but that part of himself was something he always kept to shower walls and performances with a sweeping broom.

His mum practically nursed him to work for the label. She put many hours and many signed cheques into his schooling. Into her own schooling. He could sit down with a band tonight and help them record an entire album. Would know exactly how to promote them in the right direction to gain popularity. He’s been marinated to create artists, not to _be_ one.

He walks along with this boy, who lives life as it comes and talks with his mouth full, and suddenly he’s sixteen again, huddled in the attic of his house with a guitar, scribbling rhymes about love before he’d ever even known how it feels.

He wonders if this is how it feels. Who knows, maybe it is?

“Look, a play.” Harry blurts, blinking away his thoughts and voicing the first thing he sees to distract himself. Louis makes an interested noise and they walk on over to the Minack Theatre. It’s an open-air theatre, sat up in some rocks overlooking the sea. Many people sit and watch as people put on what seems to be Hamlet.

Louis steps up at the back, high up like they’re on a cliff. The waves are loud, crashing against the rocks below the theatre. There must be a storm soon, or one has just passed. Harry steps up behind him and sets a chin on his shoulder, hands cradling his hips. It feels really nice.

He thinks about voicing his thoughts, but remembers Louis explicitly telling him not to catch feelings. Only a mere three days ago sat in his hometown, Harry realises. Has it really only been three days since he’d joked about having a summer fling? He’d been stupid. Oblivious. How could he not catch feelings? How could anyone spend more than a few minutes around Louis Tomlinson and _not_ think about having him forever?

“Look how harsh the waves are.” Harry murmurs, lips touching to the shell of Louis’ ear. The boy leans back against him, glancing up from the play. The sun is starting to set, reflecting off of the sea but not lessening the blue of the water. Still, the beauty is incomparable.

“Yeah, it’s a bit windy.” Louis replies, voice nearly lost in said wind as they speak so quietly, not wishing to disrupt the show.

“No, they’re angry. I told you the sea would envy your eyes.” Harry murmurs, right into his ear. Then, he drops his mouth to the smooth neck below, and when they rest over his pulse point, it’s fluttering quickly against his lips.

Louis sucks in a deep breath, sagging a bit into him, fingers touching at his, still resting on the jut of his hips.

“Charming fucker.” He whispers, barely audible. Harry grins but doesn’t reveal he’s heard, and sways them lightly as the show goes on below them. It feels like a date. It _really_ feels like a date.

Then, when they get to the hotel, they open up the window and sit in the sill, sharing a joint and exhaling the evidence into the warm air outside as to not set off any alarms.

Afterwards, giggling and high, they share a shower and Louis fucks him right under the spray, draped against his back, teeth sunk into his shoulder as he comes. Harry writhes against the tile and tries not to think about what happens at the end of this trip.

With every minute that passes, he starts to wonder more and more what it would be like. To run away _with_ him. Fly to see the entire world, or something, like he’d said. Just the two of them leaving their lives behind. Would Louis want him along? More importantly, could Harry leave his life behind?

-

Week two of the road trip starts in Salisbury. They spend an hour in the cathedral, and Harry admits he finds himself staring at Louis far more than the beautiful architecture, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice, easily distracted when they venture into old city centre for a bit of shopping.

And by a bit, he means hours of it. Harry’s still yet to really understand Louis’ fashion style. It’s hard to know what he prefers when he’s grabbing a large brimmed hat a nan would wear to mass, and the next minute running a hand down a leather jacket with an excited whistle.

“You have no shame in spending my money, do you?” Harry asks at one point, filtering through a rack of soft button-downs while Louis rifles through his own interests nearby.

“Well, it’s not exactly your money, is it? Besides, half of this I’m buying for your benefit.”

“How would it be for my benefit?” Harry snorts. When Louis doesn’t answer, he turns to make sure he hasn’t wandered off, and his stomach flips.

Louis holds up a pair of black thigh-highs, mostly sheer with white ribbons at the top like some sort of maid costume. The boy is tapping his chin as he looks the socks over, and Harry steps over to him, sets a hand on his lower back.

“Please buy them.”

“Oh? Shouldn’t I be worried about putting a dent in your wealth, baby?” Louis asks with a sad little sigh, eyes flickering up to his, blazing under his eyelashes. Something hot and wanton swirls in Harry’s gut. He isn’t sure if it’s the thigh-highs, the coy look, the pet-name, or maybe just all of it at once.

“I’ll buy you the whole fucking store.” He says, reaching in to touch at the clothing.

“You always this easy?” Louis asks, placing the socks over Harry’s arm, already holding two shirts and neon green shoelaces, for some reason.

“Only for you.” He replies, truthful, watching the way Louis’ tongue darts out to moisten his lips. He knows because he’s staring resolutely at said lips.

“You’ll do anything I asked?”

“This sounds like lead up to a request I can’t fill.”

“Sure you can. Let’s stroll on over to Arundells while we’re here. Give good ol’ Teddy a visit.”

“I’m not going to a former prime minister’s house so you can steal something and get us arrested, Louis.” Harry huffs a laugh, turning back to the button-ups. The boy sighs loudly behind him and drapes over the rack he’s looking at, pouting heavily.

“I want to do something _fun_ , Harold. We both know I could shop all day, but I don’t think your boot can handle more bags.”

“Don’t worry, next thing we’re visiting is only twenty minutes out of town, and it’ll definitely be fun.”

-

“I feel like this place may be a wee bit overrated.” Louis leans up to whisper.

“Louis, we’re stood above several hundred burial mounds. This is one of the most famous landmarks of our country. It’s as old as 2000 BC!”

“So..are you saying you _aren’t_ bored right now?” Louis replies. Harry crosses his arms, a tad bored himself but not wanting to admit it.

“What would you suggest, then?”

“I think we should sneak in the background of people’s photos. Have a snog and scandalise their family members when they get them developed.”

Harry turns away from Stonehenge, a filthy grin on his face. It’s devilish, is what it is. There’s tourists all around them, taking photos, desperate for a peek at the monument.

“You’re on.”

-

“Hey, can you check the map? I can’t remember if it’s the second or third exit on the last roundabout to stay on A27.”

Louis hums, reaching for the folded map in the centre console. He opens it up, paper crinkling. Harry takes a sip of his cola as he does. He’s excited for Brighton, admittedly. His mum and Robin had gone a handful of years ago for some scouting event and had said the coast was absolutely beautiful, and they’d come in winter when they couldn’t even fully enjoy the outdoors.

He glances over and finds Louis’ most definitely not looking anywhere near Brighton, but he’s also not looking back towards Salisbury either. He’s just staring blankly at the centre of the map, eyes wide and lip between his teeth.

“Lou? We’re approaching soon, I kind of need to know.” Harry says, reaching over to tap him like as if to check he’s alive.

“Um. I can’t exactly read it.”

“What?” Harry keeps glancing over as much as he safely can while driving.

“Yeah. I’m meant to wear glasses but I can’t be fucked, usually.”

It’s strange, because Harry swears he’s read the map before. Takes a look all the time as Harry’s been exclusively the driver for this trip. He could have sworn he’d asked for direction confirmation before this, but perhaps Louis just guessed? He wouldn’t put it past him.

“Is your vision, like, really bad?”

“No, no, just words close up like this. Don’t worry, your funky chin is crystal clear.” Louis grins. Harry rolls his eyes, but throws on his indicator and pulls off of the road so he can read it himself. As he does, he peeks over to the boy again, finds he’s chewing on his lip and looking out of his window.

His eyebrows are furrowed, cheeks slightly flushed in a way that seems out of his control. His eyes, blinking rapidly at the view. As if trying to get them to clear again.

-

Brighton is wonderful. Birds sing for chips and flap across the pier as people walk along the dark pebble of the beach.

Louis’ favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip, and he eats it in record time, his bright eyes watching the people enjoy the nice weather. A carousel sits within the sea-side resort, bright lights of the spinning beckoning them closer without even realising it.

“Should we ride it?” Harry asks once they’ve found themselves stood in front of it. Children laugh and shout from the spinning animals, a soft playful tune playing from a speaker somewhere nearby, barely heard over the noise of the machine and the waves underneath the pier.

“Are you mad? Of course we should ride it.” Louis grins, leaning against his side, arm looping with his as if he’s cold. With the sun having just set, the breeze is less warm, but certainly not cool. Harry definitely won’t complain, leaning right back into the boy happily. He won’t turn away a chance to be closer.

After a few minutes, the ride slows and the riders descend into their parent’s arms. Harry drops a few coins into the operators hand and tugs Louis right to the unicorns. Two white ones side by side, horns a light lilac to match their saddles. Their shiny metal tails and manes painted black.

Louis is giggling as he clambers up onto the inner animal, wrapping his arms eagerly around the golden pole and turning to watch Harry copy on his own unicorn, the motion only slightly more gangly.

“You’re clumsy.” The boy observes, mirth filling his eyes as the operator circles the ride to ensure everyone is sat and ready to go.

“Am not, piss off.” Harry says, reaching over the space between them to poke at his side. Louis dodges it easily, but comes back in twice as fast, slapping Harry’s arm with a chuckle.

“You’re like a newborn fawn. Dunno how you manage to be cocky and confident when you’re falling every two seconds.”

“Ah, maybe I’ll lose the clumsiness when I gain that wise perspective we talked about.” Harry sighs, peering over to the elder, who rolls his eyes but never loses his amused smile.

He’s the sun, Harry thinks. When the sun goes down Louis is the one who brightens it all up. Louis is the sun and Harry is a flower, desperately reaching out for just a taste of his UV rays.

The ride kicks into motion, startling him out of his ever-often staring. He looks out to the view of the water as they pass it slowly, the unicorns rising and falling slowly as the ride gains speed. It reminds him, suddenly, of Gemma.

He hasn’t ridden many carousels. Doesn’t imagine many people do all the time. He remembers riding one when he was younger, though. Maybe five or six. He can’t even remember the city they were in, but remembers waving at mum, stood at the guidelines. He’d been scared to ride it, thought the animals were too big, but Gemma had taken his hand and helped him up onto it.

He smiles at the memory, hands tightening around the pole between his legs as he remembers that feeling of almost flying. He’d always wanted to fly.

A child laughs somewhere on the ride, and he blinks back to the present, eyes sliding away from the unicorn’s chipping lilac horn and to Louis, who’s already looking back. His eyes are soft, smile somehow softer, temple tilted against his own pole.

“What?” Harry asks, just before the ride begins to slow.

“Nothing.” Louis responds, and a very light dusting of pink takes over his cheeks as he looks away, out towards the view. A sort of fluttery feeling makes its way through Harry’s stomach as he recognises the shyness in the boy’s expression.

Maybe he feels the same. Maybe he’s going against his own rules too. Well, technically he only said _Harry_ couldn’t fall in love. Who’s to say Louis isn’t having feelings just as he is?

They hop down from the ride, and Louis suggests they stop and grab some chips and continue walking. A bit of a chill comes in, so Harry holds the carton between them while Louis leans up against his side and tells him every reason why people who squirt ketchup rather than dip should be jailed immediately.

“Okay,” Harry interrupts with a laugh, “do you want to go to the room or maybe check _that_ out?”

Louis looks away from the beach, and his eyes light up when he sees the casino, all dark windows and bright lights.

“You want to gamble?”

“I want to _drink_ and gamble.” Harry corrects.

Louis takes the carton of chips and separates from his side, tossing them in a bin with a wide smile, so it’s decided.

-

“You’re fucked.” Louis says, even as he sways into the wall. Harry reaches out to steady him, pulling the boy close for a bit of a cuddle. The lift is taking seventeen years, anyway.

“We won..so much.” Harry replies, tilting his chin and kissing Louis’ temple. The elder blinks at him and reaches up, promptly shoving both his hands through his hair, completely mussing it up.

“I like you too much.” Louis murmurs, tugging at his curls. He’s so pretty. He’s the prettiest thing Harry’s ever seen.

“I guarantee I like you more.” Harry says, which sounds a lot better than his constant inner stream of _blueblueblue_ as Louis stares up at him.

Then all at once, the sun fades.

Harry’s vision is only slightly blurred. He didn’t drink so much that he’s bad pissed, but it’s enough that he finds it hard to hide his frown as he watches the light fade right out of those blue eyes just before they shift away.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asks. His arms are tight around the boy, so he leans in and brushes another kiss to his temple. After a few seconds, Louis’ glazed eyes find their way back to his.

“Don’t like me. You’re going to get hurt.” Louis says, just as quiet. There’s something wrong, something off. He can’t figure it out with the limited pieces he’s been given. Like trying to see him clearly through a kaleidoscope.

“Why?”

“Because I’m..leaving, remember?” Louis seems like he can hardly remember himself, eyebrows twitching and fingers slacking in his hair.

Harry opens his mouth, and the lift dings. He pulls them both through the hallway to their room. It’s not terribly late, but they should sleep anyway for the drive tomorrow. There’s always a drive tomorrow.

“I’m going to like you even if you’re leaving. Will probably like you even after you move away.” Harry says after a few beats of silence, still stood in front of the door while the boy stumbles in and sheds his clothes.

Louis turns and looks at him for a long minute, before plopping down onto the desk chair near the tele.

“I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t an-anticipate this happening.”

“What? Me having feelings for you? Sort of started happening the minute we met.” Harry huffs a laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed across from him and tilting his head. He’s glad, suddenly, that he didn’t drink too much. It would be a shame to miss the way Louis reveals more than intended when he’s inebriated.

“Well..I never claimed to be selfless. Suppose I thought I could drain your bank account and fuck off without another word.”

“You really don’t realise how interesting you are, then.”

“That’s why you like me? Because I try to get you in trouble and I wear strange clothes from petrol stations?”

“Because I never realised I felt trapped until you showed me what freedom feels like.”

Louis raises an eyebrow and stands up. He steps across the carpet, only stumbling a tad, and then between his legs. Harry looks up at him, feels hands at his collar start to undress him.

“What else do you like about me?”

“You act so careless, and yet you aren’t uneducated. You say things sometimes that make me think you could be, like, a teacher.”

“Funny, that’s what I was in school for.”

“I thought you didn’t go to Manchester?” Harry frowns.

“Not when we met, no. I dropped out.”

“You didn’t want to teach anymore?”

Louis just presses him back on the bed, hands fumbling with his jeans and yanking them off. Harry watches, chewing on his lip and trying not to get distracted from the conversation. This could be his only chance to actually find out why he’s so back and forth sometimes.

“Lou?”

“I told you, I’m leaving. There was no point in learning to teach, and there’s no point for you to know things. The more you know, the more you’ll end up missing.”

It’s a startlingly sober view, like perhaps he’s thought it before but not said. Not wanted to say. Likely, he’d know the response.

“You don’t have to go.” Harry says, moving to sit up. Louis presses him back down, glazed eyes steely when they meet his.

“Neither of us have a choice, Harold.” He says, then pulls Harry’s pants, flicking his legs apart so he can rest between them.

“I’ll miss you.” Harry replies, merely in the hope it will make him think twice about leaving.

“H..”

“I’ll miss you so much. You making me laugh when you’re trying to wreck us by feeding me crisps on the freeway.”

Louis smiles, finally, at the same time that he reaches in and circles a hand around Harry’s cock, squeezing him.

“You waking me up in the middle of the night because you’ve tangled your fingers in my hair so much that they’re caught,” Harry’s voice shakes as Louis reaches between his thighs with coated fingers, “I’ll miss you trying to embarrass me in public by buying the worst things and wearing them all at once. I’ll ride in my car and miss your stinky feet because you never wear socks despite me offering to buy you a pack daily.”

“You know, these are all of the things I’ve had people complain about.” Louis says, laughing despite the pained way his eyebrows are knit together.

“Suppose I just like everything you are, even the things others hate. Maybe even,” his eyes flutter as Louis tucks in a third finger, “maybe even mostly those things.”

“You’re quite sappy for five drinks in.”

“You’re quite hard for twice as much." Harry responds instantly, eyes flickering down to Louis’ erection, bopping between his legs and mouthwatering.

“You going to keep blabbering or would you prefer I make you?” Louis removes his fingers, lines up his cock. Harry’s mouth dries as he reaches down to clutch the sheets in anticipation.

“I’ll miss your eyes.” He says, then moans as the boy presses in.

“Me eyes?” Louis slurs, inching forward with a pant.

“My favourite thing about you, probably. Also your lips. The way you k-kiss—“

Louis leans down to give him just that. The motion bottoms him out, and they both make noises.

“Your hands, fingers, your little ankles.”

“My ankles aren’t little.” Louis huffs, then hooks Harry’s leg over his shoulder, pitching into him hard. It feels like heaven.

“Dainty,” Harry corrects himself, “cute. And your hair. Your arse. F-fuck, your cock—“

“Yeah? Is it good, baby?” Louis asks, voice low and filthy, then presses him down so he’s folded and his thighs ache with the stretch, then slams right into his prostate. Harry moans, head tipping back and hands flailing to hold on.

After that, he finds it hard to form his lips into coherent words.

-

Louis’ sat on the bed counting their winnings the next morning when Harry wakes. He groans as the headache comes on immediately, sitting up to see the piles of coins and the notes in folds. He seems to be putting it in piles of seven, for some reason.

“We’ve _got_ to stop drinking so much and doing nothing to stop the hangover.” Harry sighs, reaching over and picking up a 50p, rolling it between his fingers.

“I feel great. You just need to stop being a lightweight.” Louis responds, fingers not letting up his quick counting.

“How are you fine? You could barely stand last..” Harry trails off, and Louis chooses that exact moment to look up, catching the wide-eyed, pink-cheeked expression before he can look away and hide it.

“Remembering the wax poetic you dripped all over me last night?” The boy asks. It sounds like he’s grinning. He’s definitely grinning.

“Yes.” Harry sighs, running his hands over his face. God, he may as well have confessed his devotion and proposed illegal marriage. There goes his plan to casually not mention he has feelings.

He knew Louis would know eventually, because Harry’s a mediocre liar at best, but he’d planned to do it perhaps under some mistletoe while sat at a candlelit dinner or something. Something he could use to help convince the boy to stay. Not his shit pissed attempt he had last night.

“Yeah. Bit embarrassing. Was half expecting you to fall on your knees and beg me to stick around.”

“Why? Would that work?”

Louis gives him a pointed look, then laughs when he can’t hold it for long.

“Fuck off.” He says, picking up a handful of the coins and tossing them at him. Harry retaliates immediately, and then they’re rolling around in money and attempting to bite the other.

Louis wins, because he fights dirty, and pins him to the bed with a grin, a penny held between his teeth.

“I meant it, y’know,” Harry says while they’re there, half out of breath, “I want you to stay. Whatever you’re running from—“

“Drop it, Curly.” Louis says, spitting the penny and lifting away from him.

“Louis—“

“It’s not up to me, and I don’t owe you any explanations. Come on, we gotta check out soon.”

Harry sits up, frowning deeply. He just wants to understand. He just wants to know _why_. Why can’t Louis stay? Why doesn’t he have a choice? Is someone forcing him?

He needs to know.

-

If Paris didn’t exist, Canterbury would be the city of love. Cobblestone walkways wind through the city, surrounded by canals and trees of green.

“That looks nice.” Louis’ voice breaks through his head. He looks away from the looming Victorian building and finds the boy is watching a mother help her child into a canoe.

“You want to ride the canals?”

“Would you rather walk?” Louis rolls his eyes and nudges him along towards the boats.

As it turns out, the city is even better when viewed from a canoe. The pace isn’t fast in the slightest, but perhaps that’s exactly the point. There’s nothing but the creaking of the row-man’s ore as he rows them along, the soft splash of the dark water against the wood of the canoe, the smell of sweets and fresh bread as they pass up bakeries only accessible by the water.

**(5)**

“It’s beautiful here.” Louis says, then he leans to the edge of the canoe, reaching out to the water and letting it simmer through his fingers as they wade along.

And Harry is lost. Lost in him, in the feeling and the picture perfect view of his silly tie-dye shirt and un-matching floral-decorated jeans. He looks good in everything. Maybe that’s what happens when you fall in love with someone. The undesirable becomes desired.

His breath catches as it overcomes him. The strong, terrifying feeling of realising he’s fallen so hard and still doesn’t even know the boy’s middle name.

It’s a funny word, falling. It doesn’t feel like he’s _fallen_ in love. It doesn’t feel like the poets described or the songwriters wrote. There is no moment where he realises he’s falling. No increase of his pulse and his life flashing before his eyes as he knows he’s going to fall, he’s going to hit the ground and crash.

It feels like an indescribable tug. A feeling of lightheadedness. The floor sweeping out from under him but nothing replacing it. Like an endless rabbit-hole that he can’t climb out of.

Like a carousel that never stops turning. Like nothing else even matters anymore. Just him. Just the way he smiles at something so simple; just his fingers streaming through warm water.

“What is it?” Louis asks, and his voice sounds melodic, somehow. Like he’s singing. He’s a great singer, Harry knows. Has heard him in the car when Madonna comes on.

“What?” Harry asks, his voice a croak, as if he’s been sleeping for ages. It feels that way. He feels like he’s only just woken up.

“You’re looking at me weird. Like I just..gave you a gift or something.” Louis takes his fingers from the water and flicks it onto him, quirking an eyebrow.

“You did,” Harry murmurs unthinkingly, slow smile spreading on his face at the way Louis tilts his head confusedly like a dog, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome, weirdo.” Louis replies, even as he’s confused. He looks at him in suspicion for a few more beats, then back out to the view. It’s fine, though, because when he turns he reaches over and hooks their fingers together, to hold his hand while they ride.

Harry’s stomach flutters as if he’s never held someone’s hand before, and he can’t look away from him. Not for anything.

-

After an hour at the Canterbury cathedral, they have a walk and look for a place to stay, just their duffels on their shoulders and the unneeded stuff still stored in the boot of his car.

“The lady in the café said there’s a Bed and Breakfast up here a ways. Reckons the owner is a bit of a creep but shouldn’t bother us.”

“Mm.” Harry replies, just so the boy knows he’s listening, and reaches down between them to hold his hand. Louis huffs a bit of a laugh but doesn’t pull away.

“You’re being really weird all day. Have hardly said anything since we got in that canoe.”

“Just enjoying it,” Harry says, tugs him closer, “while I still can.”

Louis’ head snaps to him, frowning. He tries to tug his hand away but Harry stops completely, and turns him, crowding him right up against a cobblestone wall.

“What’re you doing?” The boy asks, breathless, hands on his chest in surprise.

“If you insist on leaving, don’t be annoyed when I make the most of the time we have.” Harry demands, reaching up to thumb at his cheek. Louis leans into it, brows furrowed and mouth downturned.

“It will hurt more, if you enjoy it too much just to lose it all in the end.”

“Maybe, but it’s my choice. Someone told me recently to spend every day like it’s my last, so I’m not going to dance around you when I could be holding your hand, or..” he leans in, touches their lips together. Louis whimpers a bit, hands cupping around his neck as the kiss deepens.

When he pulls back, the boy’s cheeks are pink, pupils wide.

“Okay.”

Harry grins, and reaches over to the bush next to them, plucks a flower because this town is filled to the brim with beautiful plants, and tucks it in the boy’s ear. The pink matches him in the loveliest way.

“Okay.” He replies, and that’s that.

-

“You’re different today.” Louis says that night, cupping his cheeks. Harry scissors his fingers and smiles at the responding gasp.

“How so?”

“You’re..sweeter.” He says, shrugging like he’s unsure of the word even as he says it. Harry leans down to touch a kiss to the pillow of his lips. It feels fitting, anyway. Sweeter. It feels sweeter, to be with him like this. Every touch softer. Every noise Louis makes like electricity down his spine.

“So are you.” Harry murmurs, thumbs his bottom lip and presses in a third finger at the same time. Louis blinks up at him, back arching right up into his with how closely they’re pressed together.

“Fuck..don’t fall in love with me—“

“Shh..” Harry removes his fingers, lining himself up and taking a breath. They both gasp when he begins to press in.

“Hazza, promise me you won’t.” Louis pleads, eyes fluttering as he bottoms out, fingernails digging into his shoulder.

“You don’t seem to know how love works.” Harry replies, then pitches into him deep and slow, so he can feel every bit of him. Louis moans brokenly, chin tilting up. Harry nuzzles into his neck, fucks him harder.

“Try, then,” the elder whispers, right at his ear, “please, baby. I don’t want you to miss me.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, presses them impossibly closer, barely giving himself enough room to continue his thrusts.

“I do,” he replies in the same hushed tone, “I already do, I’ve told you. I miss you.”

Louis’ breath catches, thighs squeezing around him.

“No-“

“I miss you so much. So much. Lou, my love.” Harry turns his nose to the boy’s jaw, feels the tears against his skin as Louis hiccups wetly.

“You’re going to hurt—“

“It’s okay. I want everything you can give me. For two more weeks, let me have you.”

Louis moans even as he cries, the bed squeaking with the movement of his hips.

“Y-you already have me.”

Harry takes his hand, tangles their fingers and pressed it to the bed below. He wants to hold them together in every possible way. Wants to sew them together so neither can part.

Louis tightens around him, comes with a breathy moan. Harry fucks him through it, thighs shaking with the exhaustion of his efforts.

“Don’t stop,” the boy whines, even as he shudders with overstimulation, “I’m yours. Completely.”

Harry moans, fingers tightening in Louis’ as he comes, mouth open against his sweet skin. He takes like love.

“For two more weeks.” He says, pulling out and exhaling shakily.

“Yeah. For two more weeks.” Louis responds, and he sounds even more pained than Harry does.

It’s strange. He says he doesn’t have a choice, and yet Harry can’t figure out what exactly is holding him back. It can’t be a person, because surely they wouldn’t have allowed him to join a road trip with a stranger. So what could it be, if not himself? He’s holding back, for some reason.

He aches to know why. If only it could give him some context. So he can convince him to stay. Or perhaps convince himself to let him go.

-

The downside to being in love with Louis Tomlinson is the inability to tell him so.

There’s many times he wants to, _aches_ to. When they drive from Canterbury the next day and the boy tosses in a cassette and they sing shit pop songs at the top of their lungs. When they reach London and Louis babbles in awe because the lad has never been. 

Harry takes him to dinner, and wants to tell him over their pasta and wine. Then they stay in a hotel and he wants to tell him then, right in his ear as they spoon for bed. The next day, they shop for hours on Oxford Street and Harry wants to say it over the various racks of silly clothing.

He wants to say it as they sightsee Big Ben, the London Eye, and Westminster Abbey. He wants to say it as they drive to the Imperial College, open for accommodation during summer. The day after that, he wants to say it while they explore Hyde Park and the Royal Albert Hall, and then as they have luxurious afternoon tea over porcelain cups and Louis lifts his pinky with a giggle and a flutter of his eyelashes.

Harry’s truly enamoured, and it hurts to not tell him exactly that. It hurts not to appreciate him in the fullest way. He feels like he’s lying to him, almost, every time they meet eyes and he doesn’t utter his truest feelings.

But he can’t. Because Louis is leaving in two weeks at the end of the trip. Because he is hiding most of himself to make that easier. Because he asked Harry not to, the one rule he made. The _only_ rule he made.

And now Harry understands why. Because he knows he will have to let him go, and it hurts unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Maybe Louis knew that’s how it would feel. Maybe his one rule was to protect him from exactly this.

Still, Harry can’t find it in him to feel regret, because the pain is overshadowed completely every time Louis touches him, and maybe he can pretend for now. Pretend it’s permanent and this road trip isn’t just a fling. Pretend Louis meant it when he said he’s his.

Maybe it will hurt more later, but he can’t help it. He wants forever, but Louis doesn’t, so he chooses to pretend, and it’s enough.

For now.

-

“Should we find dessert? Or there’s street art we could check out..Lou?” Harry stops when he turns to see the space between him empty. He whirls around, spots the boy stood in front of a window, hands in his back pockets and lip between his teeth.

Harry steps up next to him, and finds he’s stood in front of a tattoo parlour, decorated with big hardly legible letters.

“I want a tattoo.” Louis says, voice sounding far away. Harry smiles, huffing a laugh.

“Didn’t you say back on the drive to Brighton that you can’t stand tattoos and don’t understand why anyone would want one?”

“I’m a changed man, Styles.” Louis sighs, peering back at him with a smirk.

“That was five days ago.”

“Yeah, well, it’s something I’ve never done, and someone recently told me to live every day like it’s my last.”

“That was me using your own words against you, love.”

“I know. I should be following my own advice, I reckon.” Louis nods, then takes his wrist and drags him right into the shop.

Harry goes, and tries not to laugh.

And hour later, he wakes up from a tap on his shoulder. Jerking awake, he lifts his head from his arm and blinks blearily up at Louis, who’s touching at a clear bandage on his wrist with a shy smile.

“You’re done? What’d you get?” Harry scrambles up from the chair, takes Louis’ wrist to see.

It’s red and there’s a few dots of mushed ink or blood, but through the pressed clear of the bandage it’s unmistakable. It’s small, sure, just barely spread across his wrist, right under his palm.

“A cat?” Harry asks, and traces the thin lines as lightly as he can. It’s a kitten, really, mid stretch with it’s tail curled up behind it.

“Do you remember back in Cheshire, when we talked about what we would be reincarnated to if we died that day?”

“Yes,” Harry’s brows furrow, head shaking, “but..this is mine. You said you would be a football.”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to be around loud boys who kick me around when they’re bored. I want to be a cat, so I can be around someone like you. So,” Louis takes a breath, sounding a bit shaky, “so I can get in your lap when you’re sad and cheer you up.”

“Louis..” Harry chokes, eyes welling. Louis reaches up and pats at his cheek.

“Don’t cry, fuck—“

“They’re happy tears, I assure you. God, I..” he nearly says it, then. Nearly just blurts it right out.

Instead, he scoops him up and spins him. Louis laughs, arms tight around his neck as if he’d ever let him fall.

“You’re incredible.” Harry murmurs, setting him back on his feet before kissing the reply right out of his mouth.

Another hour later, Harry steps out of the tattoo parlour with a stupid wide grin on his face, fingers tangled with Louis’. There’s a bandage on his opposite wrist, protecting the small tattoo of a football. When they hold hands, their tattoos line up, and maybe it’s nothing, but maybe it’s everything.

That night, they find an underground gay pub. It’s sort of sleazy and most definitely not the nicest place, but someone hands them joints and they get high and dance until they’re a mess of sweat and warm bodies.

Lights everywhere and music loud, at some point they’re sat at the bar having drinks when someone stumbles into them and he’s holding a spoon.

“Wan’ some, lads?” He asks, and waves the utensil enticingly. Harry blinks in confusion, wondering why they would need a spoon for drinks.

“A spoon?”

“No, not just a spoon.” The guy fumbles for his pocket, but suddenly Louis stands up from his barstool and pushes the guy right out of their space.

“We aren’t interested, find someone else’s lives to ruin.” Louis says, shoulders all hiked up and voice scathing in a way Harry’s never heard it.

“Wh—Lou?” He stands up as well, reaching for him.

“No need to get your knickers in a twist, mate, was just an offer.” The spoon guy says, voice biting and standing his ground. Louis steps right up in his face, shorter but definitely making up for it with the blaze in his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s just an offer until you’re fucking killing people.”

“The fuck is wrong with you?” The guy pockets his strange spoon, reaching in to shove at him.

Harry jumps in and grabs Louis, pulling him out of reach so the shove falls short.

“It’s not worth it, leave it.” He says, to both of them, and drags Louis right out of the pub even as he struggles and curses and tries to escape.

Outside, the warm air hits like a wave of sobriety, and Harry hails a cabbie, hands tight around the boy even as he’s settled. He’s still vibrating in anger, muttering incoherently to himself.

In the cab, Harry rattles off their hotel and then turns to the boy, collects his hand in his and touches a kiss to his knuckles.

“I don’t understand.” He says honestly, brows furrowed and worry spitting through his veins.

“He was offering us heroin, H.” Louis says, hand tightening in his and jaw setting.

“Oh.” Harry mumbles as it clicks, and he leans back against the seat. There’s something off, he feels like, but he isn’t sure what. Louis’ anger comes off of him in waves, but he isn’t sure what exactly it is. He knows heroin can really fuck someone up, but he isn’t sure why the offer makes the boy so angry.

Not for the first time, Harry realises this is another piece of the mystery. Another slice he doesn’t have the full story of. Something he doesn’t have context for and can only comfort him and hope it’s enough.

So he does, and can only pray Louis will confide in him at some point. About anything.

-

There are certain things that should not be familiar, and waking up to the sound of Louis’ vom hitting the toilet bowl is one of them.

Harry wakes slowly, yawning as he sits up. The toilet flushes and the shower switches on shortly after. He lies there for a minute, then stands up and finds the door is unlocked. Stepping inside, he’s met with steam and a fogged up shower door.

“Morning.” Louis says, merely a silhouette in the glass. Harry opens the door, finds him mid-body wash. There’s soap all over his wet glistening body. The sight makes arousal stab at his gut immediately.

He steps in, shutting the door behind him and crowding Louis up against the tile. He takes the soaped loofah from him and sets it aside, before leaning down and pressing their lips together.

He tastes like toothpaste, because he seems adamant on ruining his enamel, and he kisses back lazily, sleepily.

Harry pulls back, reaching up to brush a thumb over his cheek.

“Are you coming down with something?” He asks, voice echoing in the small square of the shower. Louis blinks up at him, his own hands wandering.

“Don’t think so. I’m just sensitive to alcohol. I tend to toss it back up when I drink it.”

“You only had one glass last night.”

“I know, isn’t it shit?” Louis sighs, head tilting back against the wall. It leaves his neck exposed. Most of the soap has rinsed from him by now, so he’s all warm and inviting. Harry takes a shuddering breath. The worry doesn’t leave him, but he would die before he turns down such a beautiful invitation.

-

Their last full day in London, Harry wakes up to Louis stood next to the bed faced away. He lifts his head to check the time on the digital clock next to them, finds its barely four in the morning.

He opens his mouth to ask him why he’s up, but Louis talks first.

“You don’t think I’m being stupid?..Yeah, I suppose you’ve never had trouble telling me to get my shit together before.”

There’s a few beats of silence. Harry watches his shoulders tense and his head shake.

“No, Mum, I’m not going to—yes, I know.”

“Lou?” Harry sits up, brows furrowing, and watches Louis tense up full-bodily, head turning but not looking at him.

“I know he can’t.” Louis whispers, not sounding like it’s meant for him. Harry scoots down the bed a bit to peek around him, confirm there’s nobody else in the room, before he reaches for the boy’s hand.

“Louis, who’re you talking to?” He asks. Louis comes when he pulls, crawling onto the bed and back under the duvet. It’s too dark in the room to properly see his expression, but the moon coming in through the window is just enough to see the knit of his brows and the gloss over his eyes.

“Mum. She’s..I can’t—“ Louis’ breath catches, and Harry pulls him close, wrapping around him as confusion sizzles through every part of his body.

“Okay, lets just go back to sleep, yeah? Shh.” He combs through Louis’ hair, feels that he’s trembling a bit. Even as the boy settles and finally falls asleep, Harry can’t seem to make himself do the same.

He wishes he knew more.

Louis sleeps for a few more hours, but Harry lies wide awake as the alarm goes off at eight. He slaps the noise off and turns back to see Louis’ eyes fluttering open, circles under his eyes, and realises he likely was awake talking to himself longer than he thought.

“Mmph.” Louis whines, eyes closing again like he’d rather not wake up.

“You want to sleep in, love?” Harry asks, voice croaky in the soft of the morning. Louis peeks his eyes back open, the blue sharper as its surrounded by the navy bedspread this hotel has.

“We don’t have plans?”

“Sure, but I have a feeling you may need more sleep than you got.”

Louis blinks, and then his entire body tenses. There’s a full second where nothing but open fear shows in those pretty eyes of his, before he smooths it over.

The longer they spend together, the more Harry starts to notice when he’s putting barriers up. And it’s often. More often than not, actually. He knows without a doubt what whatever the boy is about to say will be a lie, and he isn’t sure if exactly how to deal with that. Mentally.

“Did I sleepwalk? I do that sometimes, it’s no big deal.” Louis shrugs. He’s a really fair liar, and it’s nearly perfect, but sitting this closely and Harry watching so attentively, he sees the twitch in his eye. Maybe it’s just a muscle spasm, his eyes weary from lack of sleep.

It’s not. He knows that.

“You’ve slept-walked before?” Harry asks, brushes his thumb over the cut of Louis’ cheekbones. They’re pronounced, high, beautiful.

“It’s not uncommon, plenty of people get it.” Louis says. It’s not a lie, technically. Maybe he doesn’t want to lie, or wants to lie as rarely as he can. It shouldn’t ease Harry’s worry, but it does.

He doesn’t know how to respond. He’s hurt, of course, because he’s recognising that he’s being lied to, and likely is on a daily basic. At the same time, the hurt is overshadowed by the worry, because he figures Louis wouldn’t just lie without cause. There’s something he’s keeping to himself, something to go along with the reason he has to skip the country, probably.

Louis’ eyes fall from his, settling on his chest like he can’t maintain eye contact for long after fibbing.

“I’m worried about you.” Harry says, barely more than a breath. Louis’ eyebrows furrow and he places a hand over Harry’s on his cheek.

“It’s just sleepwalking, H.” He replies, eyes finding his again. Harry’s never wished for magical abilities to read minds more in his entire life. He might even want it more than his ten year old self wanted to fly.

“You know, you can tell me anything. Especially since you’re going to fuck off in two weeks and won’t see me again.”

“Are you saying I’m hiding things?”

“Well, I’ve told you most things about me, and I don’t even know your middle name.”

Louis’ mouth twists. He leans in and kisses him, light and soft.

“I could go for more sleep..roll over.” He says, and Harry complies with a frown, rolling the other direction so Louis can fit himself against his back and play big spoon. Harry likes it, of course, but he thinks he’d like to have a real conversation more than that.

He’d also like to admit he’s in love and beg him to stay, so one could say he’s used to biting his tongue by now.

Louis’ arm curls around his waist, fingers petting over his bare sternum. His breathing is soft in his curls, and after a minute of silence he shifts forward and touches a kiss to the skin under his ear.

“William.” He whispers. Another kiss.

Harry closes his eyes, feels himself sag into relaxation. He hadn’t even realised how tense he was, mind racing too loudly to even pay attention to his own body language.

“Louis William Tomlinson.” He tests it out. It sounds nice on his tongue. Posh, really.

“That’s me,” Louis sighs, “just remember I had the name first if you ever meet little Prince William.”

“Isn’t he in college now? Not quite so little.”

“Anyone born more than a year after me is considered little.” His words slur together just a tad. Already falling back asleep, then. Though Harry can’t say he’s much better off, eyes drooping himself.

“Well, you remember I had my name first if you ever meet Prince Harry, then.” He replies, smiling against the pillow. Louis exhales softly in his ear, too tired to actually laugh.

“M’ not going to..reckon your name’s safe.”

“Mm..why would I meet any royalty if you wouldn’t?”

“Cause you’ll be in this country to do so, now stuff up and sleep.” Louis pinches him, but it’s weak at best. Harry pouts, leaning back against him as if he can get any closer.

“Y’should stay with me and we can meet them together.” He replies after a minute of drowsy slow blinking. There’s nothing like being cuddled to help him fall asleep quicker.

“Would if I could, baby.” Louis whispers under his breath. Harry hears it, because the boy’s mouth is right by his ear. Likely if their positions were switched he wouldn’t have.

“Why can’t you?” Harry asks in a murmur, heart suddenly pounding, all resemblance of sleep pooling right out of his system. Louis’ never said anything like that. He always made it sound like there was something holding him back, yeah, but he also made it sound like he wanted to leave. ‘Would if I could’ is drastically different from ‘neither of us have a choice’.

Louis doesn’t answer, his breathing having gone deep as he’s fallen asleep. Harry wants to roll over and shake him awake, demand to know what he means.

_Would if I could_. So he _wants_ to stay. Right? What else would that even mean? Fucking hell, he got a whole tattoo that’s directly associated with Harry, surely that means he has some resemblance of feelings for him. That was a part of the rule, he remembers. Louis can fall in love, but Harry can’t. Why not? Why anything?

It’s another hour before Harry’s mind calms enough to allow him back to sleep. In that hour he does a lot of thinking, but comes up with no solutions. No plan to figure it out. When it all comes down to it, he can’t push the boy. Refuses to force it out of him. Could never make Louis tell him something he so clearly doesn’t want him to know.

It’s just. Sometimes it sounds like he kind of _does_. And Harry has no clue what to do with that suspicion.

-

It’s a short hour drive from London to Oxford. In that drive, Louis eats most of the strawberries they’d bought from London’s Borough market. The fruit was meant for the longish drive from Oxford to Donny, but Harry doesn’t complain.

Finds it hard to feel anything but fond at every little thing Louis is. Maybe that’s just what happens when he’s in love. He loves every little piece of him. Every thing he does.

After exploring the University of Oxford and listening to a chapel choir, they find themselves in the Bodleian Library.

“This trip has been seriously lacking some bookstore visits, now that I’m thinking about it.” Louis says as they casually step through the classic literature section. Harry smiles, runs his fingers along the soft spines of the books as they stroll along.

“I agree. Should we stay here awhile? Do some reading?”

“Yes,” Louis whirls to look at him with a glint in his eye, “go find me a book and I’ll do the same for you, then we meet back here in five minutes.”

Then he’s off, sprinting down the aisle and disappearing without even a confirmation. Harry huffs a laugh, shaking his head in amusement, and sets off to find the strange boy a book.

“For how daft you seem, I admit I’m impressed with this pick.” Louis says thirty minutes later. Harry looks up from his own page and smiles.

They’re sat across from each other in the classic literature aisle floor, legs overlapping, backs against the books. Louis’ peeking at him over the top of Harry’s pick, _The Handmaid’s Tale._

“You sound quite sure for only twenty pages in.” Harry says, raising an eyebrow over his own book. Louis’ given him _Midnight’s Children_ , which he admittedly hasn’t read before, but it seems interesting so far. Much more mature than what he’d expected.

“I’ve read this, to be fair.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised. I’ve read one or two books in me life, Harold.” Louis rolls his eyes. Harry reaches down and circles Louis’ ankle with his fingers, sending him his best pout.

“I’m sorry. You just never mentioned enjoying to read. You like it, then?” He motions to the book. Louis looks down at his open pages, sucks his lip into his mouth thoughtfully.

“Hard to say I like it, to be fair. I can’t imagine it being reality. It’s..horrific. There’s almost an insidious atmosphere to the story. You find yourself sucked into speculating yourself in this world, then you look up from the page and realise you aren’t trapped at all. It’s, dunno, freeing?” Louis sets the book on his lap, eyebrows furrowing like he can’t find the right words.

“Freeing because you realise it was all just words on a page and you aren’t in a world that horrible?”

“No..freeing because I realise that even though I won’t be around someday, it will all carry on without me. Like, what’s the quote, ‘ordinary is what you are used to’?”

Harry shifts uncomfortably, setting his own book down as well.

“The tale is freeing because it’s helped you accept the inevitability of death?”

“It’s a part of life, Curly. We all die. There’s no reason to be afraid of it. Reading this book makes me thankful for what I have left of my own. Thankful that I can up and go on a road trip with someone I’d just met just for the fun of it. Wear whatever shit clothing I want. Kiss a man and even though I can’t legally marry him, I’m not going to be strung up on a wall for it.”

Harry chews his lip, squeezes his fingers still around the boy’s ankle. Once again, he’s hit with the extent of Louis’ intelligence. He’s never wanted to utter three little words more in his entire life.

“You know, if you go back to school you should go for teaching English instead of drama.” He says instead.

Something flashes in Louis’ eyes, too quick to interpret before he smirks.

“Maybe. Only if you do what you want to do instead of following in mum’s footsteps because you feel you have to.”

“What makes you think I don’t want to produce?”

“I’m sure you do, but I think you may want to be the one being produced more than that.” Louis tilts his head, like he’s daring him to disagree.

“When did I say I wanted to sing?”

“Usually in the shower when you think I can’t hear you, or when you’re harmonising to the radio in the car. You could do it, y’know. You could make it big if you really went for it.”

Harry laughs, scrubbing a hand down his face, heart thumping in his chest. Louis’ a lot more observant than he gives him credit for. He wonders if the boy already knows the extend of his feelings. Probably has an inkling, at least.

“I’ve essentially been raised to work at mum’s label. She’d be so disappointed if I stepped up and told her I want to perform instead.”

“Would she? Have you asked her? Have you ever even _hinted_ at it?”

Harry shrugs, the answer clear in his silence. Louis smiles, head shaking in amusement as he picks up his book again.

“Don’t waste time making your ordinary what you’re used to. You only get one life, make sure you spend it how you truly crave.” Louis spins the quote a bit, then looks back at his book with a small smile. He sounds like a motivational speaker sometimes. It should be cliché, maybe even annoying.

It isn’t. The words are spoken sincerely, a shake in Louis’ cadence like he’s truly worried Harry will waste his life doing what’s expected of him instead of the dream he’s told exactly nobody about.

“Okay.” He says, turning back to his own book. It’s not what he wants to say. Not even close. Would rather say something that starts with _I_ and ends with _love you_. Wants to say that he truly craves to spend his entire life just like this, with him in the quiet of this library, nobody else to bother them, nothing to do but appreciate a good book and each other’s company.

Instead, he rubs gentle circles into the dips of Louis’ ankle and continues reading. They stay like that, reading in comfortable silence and occasionally sending each other private smiles, all the way until the building closes for the night and they have to leave.

Oxford is one of the good nights.

In hindsight, he realises it was sort of the _last_ good night. The last night spent with little worries, just smiles and contentment. The calm before the storm. And what a storm it is; forming on the horizon. At least they have Oxford. The lovely memory that will last beyond their short stay.

_Praised be._

-

_’Well, the landslide bring it down.’_

-

**(6)**

Doncaster is a bit quiet.

It’s a middle sized city, not exactly large but not small in any means. Louis doesn’t give him any directions, so Harry just drives through until he finds a hotel, parking at the front entrance and taking off his seatbelt. There’s something off today, but he isn’t sure what.

He should correct himself. Doncaster isn’t a but quiet, _Louis_ is a bit quiet.

“Lou? Didn’t you say you have family here? The reason you wanted to stop in?”

“We cant stay with them. We don’t need to be here long, actually. I just want to visit and we can continue on to Leeds.”

“I mean, we can stay a night or two. If you plan to leave the country I’m sure you’d want to properly visit, right?”

Louis looks away from his window, eyes drifting to his slowly as if he’s having a hard time moving properly.

“The visit won’t take long. Pull back out to the road, I’ll give you directions.”

Harry complies, and peaks over continuously throughout the drive. Louis’ voice is stiff, monotonous almost. He’s not dressed crazy today, unless Jerry is to be counted, but Harry doesn’t. The hat looks rather normal when it’s paired with just a shirt and jeans, actually. It’s only slightly weird due to it being the middle of summer, but the boy had tucked it on once they rolled down the windows. He seems to chill easily.

“Alright, pull in here.”

Harry does, and finds they’re at a church. He raises an eyebrow, but Louis’ climbing out of the car without another word. He pockets his keys, follows Louis as they walk around the church to a giant field behind it.

Correction, a giant _cemetery_ behind it.

“Louis?” Harry isn’t sure how to ask. Isn’t sure he _wants_ to ask. The elder stops just at the entrance to the cemetery, just a metal arched gateway, rusted and dreary looking.

“I haven’t been here in six years.” The boy says, eyes wide at the gate. Harry swallows thickly and reaches down, does the only thing he can think to do even as he isn’t sure why he’s been led here.

Louis’ shoulders drop a bit as Harry tangles their fingers together, eyes fluttering closed. He leans against him for a few moments, just breathing, before he opens them again.

“Please don’t let go.” He says, voice breaking a bit. Harry frowns, blood rushing at his ears.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He vows, and then Louis takes the first step.

They walk through the grass aisles, through plenty of stones and mounds, some fresh and some decades old. It’s quite a large cemetery, but then again he supposes he’s never seen a tiny one.

When Louis stops, he’s staring resolutely at his feet. Harry looks to him, thinking perhaps he’s just taking a break from walking, but finds the boy’s eyes are closed almost like he’s in prayer, but more so like he just can’t look. His hand is sweating in Harry’s, clutching him so tightly it almost hurts.

Harry looks away from him, to what they’ve stopped at, and his breath catches.

They stand in front of five headstones. Two parents, three girls. The headstones get smaller down the line, as do the ages the people passed. The death dates are all the same. Six years ago.

Each stone shares the same last name.

“Oh.” Harry whispers, breath catching as he suddenly realises why the family visit won’t take long. Why Louis doesn’t want to stick around here very long. Why he doesn’t talk about his family. Why he didn’t have to say goodbye to anyone before they left Manchester.

“They were on their way home from work and school. We didn’t have much money, so we only had one car for the lot of us. My step-dad Mark always had to work early shifts so he could get off in time to pick up Mum from the hospital, then Fizzy and the twins from school. They were on the freeway, and got hit head-on from the other lane. Driver was high on heroin, speeding. Nobody involved survived even long enough to reach a hospital.” Louis’ voice goes bitter, and Harry finally understands why he’d been so angry back at the man in the pub in London who was offering them a spoon. His stomach turns with this information, and he reaches in with his other hand, envelops Louis’ one in both of his. He wishes it were enough to erase the pain.

“My sister Lottie had gone to the mall with her friends, so they hadn’t picked her up. And I was in my fucking dean’s office getting my ear chewed off for pulling pranks. We both should have been in that car.”

“Where is Lottie now?” Harry asks, voice coming out croaky. It hurts to see the boy like this. All hiked up emotionally but barely showing it at all. He’s bottling it up. Bound to explode at some point.

“Dunno, we lost touch. Neither of us could stick around here after that day. We both left within a few months. I went to Manchester, she went to London. After a year or two my letters started coming back and her landline lost service. She moved, I think. Maybe even out of the country.” Louis shrugs, but this clearly hurts him. The only family he has left, just hopping right out of his life without a goodbye. He’s alone.

So alone, in the most unimaginable way. Harry can’t even begin to understand.

“I’m so sorry, Lou.” He says, squeezing the boy’s hand.

Louis just nods, staring hard at the stones in front of them through his fringe. They stand there for a few minutes longer, before Louis sucks in a sharp breath and abruptly turns.

“Okay, lets go.”

“Um..I’ll catch up, you go on.” Harry says, keeping still. Their hands slip apart and Louis looks confused when he turns back.

“What?”

“I’ll meet you at the car, okay?”

Louis glances between him and the headstones, before he just nods, taking a step back, then another. Harry turns back to the graves, and lowers into a small greeting bow.

“Lovely to meet you all. Um..Mrs. and Mr. Tomlinson, I-I hope you can feel assured that he’s safe with me. I will never hurt him. I will make him happy, if he allows me the chance,” Harry looks up from the stone, to Louis’ slowly retreating back, “I’ll love him for the rest of my life, and I won’t let him be alone again. No matter how hard he tries to push me away. Or..himself away, I suppose,”

He huffs a laugh, feeling a bit out of place. He isn’t so sure anyone is even listening, but it feels right. It feels like the thing to do. It’s what he would’ve done if he were meeting live parents, so he sticks with it.

“I hope I have your blessing, because your son has made me happier in the last two weeks than I ever thought I could even feel, and I don’t plan to ever let that go. I can only hope to give that in return. No, I vow to give that in return. I want to make him happy. So happy he can’t hardly take it,”

Harry kneels down, touches his fingers to the warm earth below.

“Thank you for bringing him into this world. He taught me to live life in the moment, and I plan to follow that advice. I will tell him I love him tonight. I won’t waste what precious time we have dancing around him. He deserves to know he’s loved. And appreciated. Just..thank you. I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

Bordering on rambling, Harry stands back up and nods down to the stones, then follows back down the grass aisles towards the gate before he can babble himself to tears. The decision is made.

He’s going to tell Louis how he feels, and there’s a part of him that thinks that feeling might just be mutual.

-

“Wait, we’re on 635? We’re supposed to be on A1, Harold.” Louis looks up from the map, eyebrows furrowed.

“Thought you needed glasses to read the map?” Harry replies, smirking a bit. Louis huffs a sigh and tosses the map back to the floorboard, looking to him.

“Is this another surprise visit to a random waterfall?”

“Dunno. There may just be a waterfall or two, actually.” Harry shrugs, smiling at the road ahead.

“You don’t have to whisk me away every time I get sad, y’know. We’re already on a road trip.” Louis says. It sounds like he’s smiling too, which is sort of all that matters.

“I know, but I want to. The day doesn’t feel right unless you’ve smiled.”

Louis doesn’t respond, and when Harry glances over he’s looking out of his window, cheeks dusted pink and lip between his teeth.

Love feels like butterflies, but if the feeling were spread out over his entire body rather than just his stomach. It’s the feeling he gets in moments like these, when Louis is too charmed to come up with a sassy reply or anecdote to turn it funny.

It’s happening more often than not, nowadays.

-

Bratwurst filling their stomachs, they roast marshmallows for s’mores over a crackling fire.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept in a tent. Reckon it was camp as a kid.” Louis says. The sun’s gone down, so he’s wearing a jumper over his shirt, the sleeves falling over his tattoo bandage and nearly covering his thin fingers. Despite all of the food they’ve been devouring over the trip, it almost seems like he’s lost weight.

“You like it?”

“Not too bad. I don’t mind the outdoors, long as I don’t wake up to a spider up me pants.”

Harry smiles, but finds it hard to maintain conversation normally. His hands are shaking to the rhythm of his pounding heart. His stick trembles with the movement, causing his marshmallow to slide right off of it and into the fire. They both watch as it melts into oblivion.

“You’re acting strange.” Louis comments casually, reeling his own marshmallow back in and setting it on his Graham cracker.

“I have something to tell you, and I want you to try not to be angry about it.” Harry blurts, tossing his stick in the fire and turning on his log to look at him. Louis’ hands pause, fingers pressed to the top cracker to complete the s’more.

“You want to end the trip early?” The boy asks, eyes wide in his.

“No..it’s not that. I just, fuck, do you know how great you are? I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I’ve been in the last few weeks. You make me so happy—“

Suddenly, all of the colour drains from Louis’ face. He stands up, s’more falling from his plate, both items thumping onto the grass. The boy doesn’t seem to notice, eyes wide and filled to the brim with panic.

“H, no, don’t tell me..” he trails off, and takes in a sharp breath, shaking his head like he can’t even utter the words. Harry stands up as well, stepping closer and reaching for his hand.

“I know you only gave me one rule, but it’s not something I can control—“

“Stop it!” Louis hisses, backing up and tripping over his log seat. He straightens up immediately and scrambles for the tent, “I’m going to sleep, this conversation is over.”

Harry watches him dive into the tent, heart slamming quickly in his chest, and realises Louis isn’t angry.

He’s _afraid_.

“Lou?” Harry climbs into the dark tent after him, finds the boy on his knees, hands fumbling on the zipper of his sleeping bag. They’re new and unused, so the tag is still holding it closed, but he doesn’t seem to realise, breathing harshly and trying desperately to open it.

“Please don’t be upset.” Harry murmurs, closing the tent and kneeing up behind him, reaching around his waist and pulling the restraint off. The sleeping bag comes open, but Louis sags a bit, head bowed and hidden from view.

“Don’t say it.”

“Even if I don’t say it, it’s still true.”

Louis’ breath catches, and he whirls around and shoves him harshly. Harry falls back, not expecting it, elbows hitting the ground. He wants to be angry, he does, but Louis looks so fucking terrified and he doesn’t know _why_.

“Don’t fucking say that.”

“Why not, Louis? Tell me why so I can understand!”

“You’re going to get hurt!” Louis shouts.

“I’m already fucking hurt!” Harry replies just as loudly.

It’s quiet for a few long moments. The fire cracks outside, owls hoot in the distance, cicadas chirp nearby. Louis reaches up and wipes at his pretty eyes, wet with emotion.

“I don’t want you to understand. You weren’t supposed to get attached.”

“What about you? You can lie about every thing else but I know you have feelings for me too.” Harry points at him accusingly. Louis runs a hand through his hair, eyes falling somewhere between them.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel.”

Harry frowns and sits up, kneeling across the space and taking his hand. Louis goes pliantly, despite his hiked up emotions. Harry pulls him close, kisses his temple.

“Your feelings _do_ matter. So much.”

“If that’s true then please just..don’t.”

“I don’t have a choice. It’s uncontrollable.” Harry holds him tighter. Louis takes the shakiest of breaths, hand tightening to a fist in his shirt.

“Then ignore it. Push it away. Anything.”

“I can’t—“

“Please, baby.” Louis whispers, voice a rasp, hand tugging at his shirt weakly. Harry closes his eyes, head tilting helplessly when the boy starts to kiss his jaw.

“This isn’t..reasonable.” Harry replies just as quietly, fingers digging into Louis’ thighs as the boy straddles him, sharp little teeth nipping at his neck.

“I know, I’m sorry. Do it anyway? For me?”

Harry sniffles, tears springing to his eyes as he lies back, Louis chasing after him with his sinful lips and clever fingers.

He never agrees, but the sounds he makes that night might as well be as such.

-

The next day they sleep in for a while, then pack up the tent and head through a trail which leads to the cabin Harry rented out. It’s something he really likes about the place. The lack of roads causing them to take up a bit of a hike.

Louis seems tired though, and they have to take breaks often. At one point, they have one while leaned against the railing of a bridge. It’s a pretty thing, small and just over a bit of a creek. Louis sips at water and stares out at the view.

They’ve hardly said a word all day.

Harry leans against the opposite railing, watching him and frowning. The boy’s hands are shaking a bit as he lifts the bottle to his lips, shoulders hunched with the strap of his duffle over his chest. They aren’t carrying that much. The tent was small so it fit in Harry’s bag, so they’re really just carrying their change of clothes and necessities. Still, Louis looks worn out. They don’t have much further to walk, but he seems off.

With a sigh, Harry steps across the bridge, reaching in and grasping the strap across the boy’s chest. He lifts the duffel and hooks it over his right shoulder, the opposite of his own. It’s not heavy, not even as heavy as his own, so it won’t be bad at all.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to. C’mon, we’re almost there.” He turns, but there’s a hand catching his elbow. Louis is frowning, eyes somewhere at his chest.

“I know you’re angry with me, and I’m sorry for..everything, really. You can’t understand and if you did understand it would be so much worse. I just need you to trust me when I say this is the way it has to be.”

Harry exhales in a rush, stepping close and caging him against the wooden railing of the bridge. He cups Louis’ cheek, swiping a thumb over his soft skin.

“I’m not angry, I’m just confused. You deserve to be appreciated and I just wish you’d let me do that.”

“You already do.” Louis mumbles, fingers fiddling with the hanging strap of one of the duffels. His eyelashes are so long, and they look especially pretty like this, when they’re downcast and sending spiked shadows over his cheeks.

Harry loves him so fucking much.

“I already do because I’ve felt this way for a while now. You know, it’s okay to be scared—“

“I’m not scared.” Louis bites immediately, defensive. Harry leans in, kisses his pretty little mouth once.

“Really? Because I’m fucking terrified. I’ve known you for barely three weeks and have broken the one rule you made for this trip. Then it’ll all be over and you’re going to fuck off to god knows where and I’ll never see you again. Don’t you realise that’s terrifying? That I’m going to lose you? I didn’t ❌choose to fall for you, Louis. It just..sort of happened.”

Louis takes a deep breath, then tips forward, forehead falling against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. This is meant to be a holiday. It’s meant to be fun.”

“Oh, Lou, it’s still fun. I mean, shit, look around us. This place is beautiful. Even when you’re being frustrating I’m still enjoying myself.”

“Even when I commit petty crimes?”

“Especially then, probably.”

Louis lifts his head. His face is the picture of worry, lip between his teeth and eyebrows pitched together. Alas, the mirth twinkling in his eyes gives it away, and Harry already feels his lips quirk up.

“Well, now might be a good time to tell you I stole both of our books from the Oxford library so we could finish them.”

Harry inhales sharply, and then laughs, shoulders shaking and amusement sizzling through him. Louis huffs his own laugh, clutching his arm and looking rather pleased with the lift in mood.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You won’t be saying that later when you get to the good chapters.” Louis says, then reaches up to bop his nose. Harry smiles and leans in to kiss him.

The rest of the walk is rather pleasant, Louis pointing out plants and asking what they are. For the ones Harry doesn’t know, the boy makes up broad and strangely detailed fake descriptions for them. When they get to the cabin, they make tea immediately and sit at the couch across from each other with the stolen books.

Everything seems fine, and yet every time Harry peeks over his book to the boy, his pretty blue eyes are staring at his pages, unmoving, a million emotions flashing through as he’s lost in his head. No amount of cooling his expression to neutral can hide the pain in his eyes.

Harry aches to know what’s wrong. Aches to fix it. Aches to make him feel better. But he doesn’t want to ruin the content mood they’ve established, so for now he drops it. Instead, he reaches down for Louis’ foot in his lap, and starts to press into the tender muscles.

It can wait for today. He’s determined to find out. Maybe not everything, which is okay, but at least the reason the boy has to leave after the trip.

Maybe it would be enough.

-

The next day they get a ride down to Alton Towers. Harry may be desperate to keep the mood light, but nobody has to know that’s the reason. It’s a road trip after all, they’re meant to enjoy what the areas have to offer.

As it turns out, Harry’s stomach is shit at enjoying roller coasters, and he can only handle one before he gets a bit nauseous. Louis pokes fun at him, loudly and embarrassingly, but he does it all with a wide grin, so it’s just fine.

They share candy floss and waste way too much money on ring toss games or BB gun balloon popping. Essentially, Louis keeps playing game after game until finally he bounds back up to him with a handful of teddy bear and shoves it into his chest.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, laughing as he’s attacked with the stuffed thing, having been distracted watching some sort of pendulum adrenaline ride nearby. Louis’ cheeks are pink with the excitement of the park, and he puffs his chest out proudly.

“I won you a prize, darling.” He says, eyes batting. He’s likely taking the piss, being coy on purpose, but Harry can’t help but melt a bit anyway. He’s so gone it’s probably embarrassing.

“Thank you, Lou. I love it.” He reaches in to hug the boy, bear trapped between them, and Louis chuckles. Harry would mention how much money he’s drained doing such, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. He doesn’t care about the money, but definitely cares about the sentiment.

“You want to go check out some other rides? I bet there’s some tame ones that won’t make you fussy.” Louis pats his belly, and Harry nods, trailing after him when he takes off.

They don’t head to a new ride, instead stopping at a fortune telling machine. It’s a large glass thing, with a plastic man inside holding a crystal ball and eyes that snap open when Louis sticks a few coins in.

“It’s creepy.” Harry comments, as the speaker on the front plays ominous music and the animatronic inside moves, hands choppily moving around the crystal ball, plastic eyes snapping back and forth as if looking between them.

“Reckon if the glass weren’t there he’d inhale us both.” Louis huffs, eyes also warily watching the machine. Harry leans in against his side as the machine clunks, dings, then spits out a little fortune card. Louis takes the card, and they both lean in to read it.

‘To find the good, you must first accept the peril.’

It’s almost funny, how fitting it is. Louis seems to be re-reading it, and Harry looks up to the machine inside. The fortune man’s eyes are closed again, hands unmoving around the ball. He wonders what the peril exactly is.

Louis must accept his love and it’s apparent consequences to find the good? That seems to be it. It makes sense, as the boy associates his love with a bad outcome for some reason. Surely if he accepted it, good would come, right? How could something bad come from being loved? Being appreciated.

He wonders, suddenly, when the last time someone told Louis they loved him was. If he has no more family, as his lone sister has cut him off, perhaps it came from a friend. Maybe Niall, or Liam, or that Stan guy.

Maybe not. Maybe he hasn’t heard it in a long time. Maybe the reason he won’t accept it is because he doesn’t believe it. Could that be possible? Or is Harry just overthinking it?

“This fortune sucks.” Louis complains, then turns to bee-line right for the bin to toss it. Instead, Harry clutches his hips and crowds him right up against the front of the machine, his stuffed bear caught in his arm.

“I love you.” He says, while the boy is still blinking and realising what’s just happened. There’s a beat, and then Louis reaches up and covers his mouth, eyes wide and panicked.

“What the fuck?” He hisses, and then his eyes are swimming, glossing, and wait, _no_ , what?

Harry reaches up and removes the hand over his mouth, squeezing it.

“Don’t cry, don’t be upset. It’s a good thing—“

“It’s not, Haz,” Louis chokes, and maybe the nickname would comfort him if the boy wasn’t getting emotional like he’s just been given terrible news, “I asked you to trust me when I said it would be better if you didn’t. Fuck, why would you say it when I asked you not to?”

Something uncomfortable swirls in Harry’s gut. Not regret or guilt, because he could never be sorry for telling someone he loves them, but just a stabbing sensation as he knows he’s the reason for Louis’ tears. He hates that he’s caused them. Hates that he doesn’t know _why_.

“Because you deserve to know. You deserve to hear the words and know that you’re loved and appreciated. I’m..I’m an open person, Lou, I can’t hide how I feel. I don’t say it because I’m expecting anything in return or something, I’m saying it so you know how much you mean to me. Even if you’re leaving. Even _when_ you leave. Even after.”

Louis shakes his head feverishly, and covers his face with his hands as his shoulders start to pitch up. Harry pulls him close as he cries, and they stay like that for quite a while, crowded up against a fortune telling machine, so many feelings swirling through the air around them.

It’s tense when they get back to the cabin that night, and when they lie down for sleep, Louis doesn’t say a single word, but he presses up against his chest and gives him a soft goodnight kiss, so maybe they’re okay.

Maybe it’s okay to love him.

-

Harry isn’t sure exactly what’s woken him up, and he blinks blearily at the ‘1:32’ on the side-table clock in confusion, before his eyes scan the room and land on Louis.

The boy is frozen near the bedroom door. Harry’s duffel, once sat on the chair right next to it, is lopsided on the floor and presumably made the thud which woke him up. Louis’ eyes are squeezed tight, lips in a thin line, expression guilty. His own duffel is clutched to his chest, his shoes in his hand.

Harry tosses the duvet away and stands up, walking over and picking up the fallen bag, setting it back on the chair.

“So that’s it, huh? Sneaking out like a one night stand without even a goodbye?”

“I’m allowed to leave when I please.” Louis replies immediately, eyes snapping open but not finding his. Ashamed.

“Of course you are, but I didn’t take you to be cruel. Surely you know how much it would hurt to wake up alone. Were you even going to leave a note? Anything?”

Louis sniffs once, then steps away from him, popping right out of the room and down the hall. Harry follows him immediately, bare feet thudding against the hardwood floors.

“I don’t owe you anything. You say I can leave and yet you’re pissed when I try to do it the easiest way?”

“How could this possibly be easy? Fuck, Lou, you know what?” He steps over to him, yanks the bag and the shoes from him and tossed them on the couch, “look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me back. If you can do that, I’ll leave right now and drive you to the airport, and pay for your flight back home.”

Louis blinks up at him, eyes wide and unguarded, emotions flying through them too quickly to grasp. Harry waits.

“I don’t..” he fish-mouths, but the lie won’t come.

The mood in the room shifts, suddenly. Harry frowns, reaching in and pulling him close by his hip. Louis is tense all over, but he doesn’t pull away. Maybe that’s something he should have noticed, the way the boy has trouble pulling away.

“Don’t bail on me, Lou. Don’t leave just because you can’t accept that I love you.”

He expects the boy to get angry at his words again. Instead, his eyes close and he places a hand on Harry’s chest, as if he’s steadying himself.

“I can’t..I’m going to leave in a week, H. You will never see me again. Don’t you see that the sooner I leave the easier it will be to let me go?”

“If you’d left the day after we met, it would still hurt just as bad as it does now. Or it would in a few days. Or even a few weeks. It will hurt just the same. You don’t,” Harry takes a breath, eyebrows furrowing in frustration.

“I don’t?” Louis prompts, eyes finding his. He looks torn, like he needs convincing.

“You don’t have to leave in a week. I can support you. I have room in my flat. Even a spare if you’d prefer to be separate. I don’t know why you feel you’re forced to leave but whatever it is I can provide for us both. You can stay.”

“Money isn’t the problem. Neither of us have a choice in this.”

“Why, Louis? Don’t you want to stay? With me?”

Louis’ chin wobbles dangerously, and then he chokes on a sob, moving to back away immediately, as if he doesn’t want to be seen like this. Harry doesn’t let him get far, cradling his face and kissing his tears away.

“Hurts,” he whimpers, “it hurts so much.”

“What hurts? Please, just talk to me. Tell me why you have to leave.”

“I don’t _want_ to. I want to stay. I’m,” he makes a heartbreaking sob against Harry’s shoulder, “I wasn’t meant to get attached either. I’d just accepted I was going to leave and now you’ve gone and fucking, f-fuck you.”

Louis’ fingers twist into his hair. He’s gripping him so tightly it almost hurts.

“If you want to stay just stay.”

“I don’t have a choice! I have to leave and we’re never going to see each other again! _Ever_!” Louis pulls away, nearly hysterical, eyes wild and voice echoing loudly in the quiet night of the cabin.

“Okay, okay, lets just breathe for a bit, yeah?” Harry pulls him back in, and they settle down onto the couch, tangled together while Louis’ breathing slowly returns to normal.

It takes a long while, but eventually they’re settled a bit. Louis’ leaned against him, and they’re both looking down at the boy’s wrist, where Harry is tracing the raised lines of the cat inked in his skin. 

“I don’t understand why you can’t tell me, but you must have a reason that feels just enough in your head, so I won’t ask anymore, okay? I won’t ask, but please stay for the rest of the trip. It’s just one more week, and I saved the best spot for last.” Harry holds him closely, heart fluttering at the feeling of holding him. He wants to do so forever.

“I think it would be best if I leave today. It would hurt the least for both of us, I think.”

“I disagree. Stay with me. Let me love you for one more week, and then I’ll let you go if it’s truly what you feel you have to do. Life’s too short to turn this away. Let yourself be loved for another week.” Harry uses his own phrase against him, and Louis huffs in exasperation.

“I can’t..”

Harry grits his teeth and sits up, Louis sliding from his lap unceremoniously. He reaches in to the boy’s hand and pulls off his own stolen ring.

“What’re you-?”

Harry doesn’t give him the chance to finish. He storms out of the house with the expensive ring Niall gave him and out into the night. There’s nothing but a single street lamp above the porch illuminating the trees surrounding the cabin.

He winds his arm back, and then pitches the ring as hard as he can out into the wood. It glistens in the air for a few yards before it disappears from view. There’s no noise, the thing too small to make a sound wherever it lands in the brush. When he turns back around, Louis is stood in the front doorway, eyes wide and mouth slacked.

Harry steps up to him, slams the door closed, and then cages him right up against it.

“You told me once that I can’t be taught how to find perspective, that I have to find it myself. The way to enjoy life, as you said. I understand now, Louis. The way to enjoy life is to love, and be loved. I don’t need a stupid fucking big arse ring, or my lavish car, or any of that shit. I don’t care if I spend the rest of my life working producing bands when I’d much rather be the one singing. All of that shit stopped mattering when I met you. I don’t want any of it. I found my perspective, and it’s you. It’s _you_. And you’re breaking my entire fucking heart right now.”

Louis wriggles against the door like he can’t handle the display of feelings so closely, eyes wet, and breathing a bit choppy.

“I’m leaving in a week.”

“And I’ll let you go in a week, but no sooner. Please.” He cups the boy’s cheek, breathing staggered, and kisses him, deep and thoroughly so they’re both a bit flushed when he pulls back.

“Please, my love.” He whispers, then ducks his head to nip at the spot on his neck that makes him noisy.

“Okay.” Louis whimpers, hands clutching his arms as he’s quite literally seduced.

“Promise me you’ll stay for the rest of the trip. You won’t ditch me in the middle of the night without letting me give you a proper goodbye.” He digs in his point with a grind against him. Louis moans, legs spreading and head tipping back against the door.

“Y-yeah.”

“Promise me, Lou.”

“I promise.” Louis whines, nails digging into his shoulders when he grinds them together again.

“I love you.” Harry gasps, then promptly scoops the boy up and presses him against the door.

Louis may have complained about it, if he weren’t busy forgetting his own name after that.

-

They’re somewhere between Peak District and Leeds when Louis wakes up from his catnap in the car. He’s been quiet ever since they woke up and left the cabin, but he hasn’t pulled away physically, and if anything just seems tired.

“I’m thinking you may be coming down with something. You’ve been a lot more tired the last few days.” Harry says, glancing over at him from the road. Louis rubs at his eye with a cute fist, before reaching over the centre console to take his hand.

“Yeah, probably.” He says. It sounds like it means something else. Harry raises an eyebrow, but Louis isn’t looking. He’s staring resolutely ahead, eyes glazed and not actually looking at anything. He’s paled a bit.

“Lou?”

“I think you should pull over, lest you want sick in your floorboards.” Louis says, voice monotonous and admittedly kind of frightening.

“Shit, actually?” Harry asks, but pulls off immediately. They’re on back roads, surrounded by trees, so there’s a nice large grassy shoulder on either side of the road to pull off on.

“Stay here, I’ll only be a minute.” Louis says, and then calmly steps out of the car. Harry watches him walk to the edge of the trees, and then kneel over. It’s strange, because they didn’t have alcohol last night, so this isn’t his weird sensitivity or whatever.

Harry hates the thought of him being sick alone, though, so he climbs out of the car and walks across the soft grass, afternoon sun starting to disappear behind the trees. In a few hours, it’ll be dark, and he hopes to reach York by sunset, so if they have to stop for medicine in Leeds he needs to know.

“You alri—“ Harry cuts off when Louis looks over his shoulder, startled like he didn’t hear him approaching. His eyes are wide, red-rimmed and glossy from heaving.

Blood trails down his chin and drips below.

“Don’t..fuck, just go back to the car.” Louis says, but Harry doesn’t listen. He steps closer, and closer, and finds more blood in the grass below. Louis’ holding a tiny pack of wet wipes, like he knew he needed to wipe it from his mouth.

“Holy shit, we need to go to the hospital.” Harry says, heart pounding as he reaches for him. To do something. Pull him away or hug him or anything.

“We aren’t going to a hospital, Harold. Don’t be dramatic.” Louis looks panicked, though, but not about the fact he’s just thrown up blood. In fact, he wipes the bright red from his lip and chin, and then stands up. He’s shaky, though, stumbling a bit. Harry reaches out and steadies him, lifting his other hand to feel the boy’s forehead. He doesn’t feel feverish.

“Dramatic? You’ve just tossed up blood! Surely you know that means something’s fucked inside.”

“Yeah, my Mum was a nurse, I’m aware. I told you to stay in the fucking car.” Louis says, and runs an angry hand through his hair, stepping back towards said car as if he can just leave the crisis at the edge of the wood.

“Louis, what is going on? How can you be so blasé about this? Bloody hell, can you stop walking away and just _talk_ to me for once?” Harry catches his arm before he can reach for the car handle, spinning him around. Louis looks stricken, afraid, and his hands are shaking.

“Fine, Harold, it’s not alcohol sensitivity, okay? It’s nothing to worry about, please, let’s just drop it and go.” He sounds even shakier, like the world is one tip from spilling over.

Like all his secrets are on the verge of being exposed.

Suddenly, it comes to him. It hits him so quickly that white spots pop in his vision with the realisation. Suddenly, he realises just how oblivious he’s been. How despite watching Louis so carefully and seeing the way he was being deceiving, he still missed the big shiny flag waving right in front of his face.

“Are you ill?” Harry asks, and something in the tone of his voice must make it clear he’s not asking about a flu or a cold.

Louis stares at him harshly for a few agonising moments, all pent up and tense, before he nods. Once and barely a movement, but it changes everything. _Everything_.

“What..what is it?” Harry hears himself ask, but he feels like he’s watching the situation from an outside point of view. He can’t feel his fingers. Can’t remember how to breathe. Is he breathing?

“This is what I was afraid of,” Louis says, soft voice nearly caught in the summer breeze, “once I tell you I can’t take it back. I told you to trust me when I say it’s better not to know. You don’t want to know.”

“Tell me.” Harry demands anyway, heart thumping in his ears. Louis swallows audibly, and then all at once his barriers fall. His shoulders sag and his eyes dim. The walls he throws up constantly break down, and then there’s nothing but pain. Physical, emotional, all there in the way his voice sounds when he starts to speak.

“I have a tumour. A nice big one right in me brain. Snug right between the part that tells my body how to function and the part that makes me..me. It’s inoperable unless I want to chance living as a veggie for the rest of my life, and chemo did nothing but make me feel like shit and lose my hair, so no, we aren’t going to the hospital because there’s no point. And I’m leaving in a week because I’d like to maybe see another country before I fuck off. You won’t see me again because I won’t be around for you to see. And I wish you’d stayed in the car so you could just remember me as the guy who left and not the guy who _left_.”

Harry clutches his chest as he attempts to process this, because he’s sure he can feel his insides collapsing. He must look nauseous or something, because Louis reaches out and takes his arm, eyebrows knit.

“How long?” Harry hears himself ask, touching the boy’s cheek with his tingling fingers. It doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real. He imagines this is what grief must feel a bit like. Like his entire world crashing into nothingness.

“Not long,” Louis whispers, “a few more months, if I’m lucky.”

Harry hears himself make a noise, but it doesn’t sound like him. It sounds inhuman. His knees weaken and fail to continue maintaining his weight, and he’s vaguely aware of Louis telling him it will be okay as the boy opens up the car and has him crawl into the backseat. The door shuts, and then Louis crawls on top of him, squeezed between the back leather of the seats and him. The car isn’t quite big enough, so their legs are bent awkwardly against the side, but Harry doesn’t even notice. Can’t even fucking breathe.

“No, no no no.” He’s muttering, big hot tears seeping from his eyes as he holds his boy closely, cradles his head as if he can shield it in protection. As if it needs protected from the outside, when really it needs protected from itself.

“I’m sorry, baby. I never should have come on this trip. I should have left back in Holmes Chapel when I realised you were attracted more than a fling,”

Harry just cries, shaking his head as if the boy will understand his protests.

“Yes, I should have. I knew Niall and Liam and the friends I’ve made would forget me when I didn’t call in soon enough, and I came on this trip because it seemed like the perfect last hoorah before I left the country. It’s the best scenario, to leave while everyone remembers me as the fun guy at the party,”

“No, Lou, no—“

“I didn’t expect this. Us, y’know? I expected it to just be sex. And then I leave. I should have realised why it felt so different, but I couldn’t stop thinking about fate and stupid shit and how you came out of nowhere and just happen to need someone for a trip around the country. Fuck, I wish I could say I would take it back and not come, but I can’t,”

Louis hiccups wetly, brushing Harry’s curls from his face and his tears from his cheeks even as he sobs himself.

“I’m so sorry to just pop into your life and make you fall in love with me just to pop back out, but I don’t regret it. You said you’ve never been happier than on this trip and you aren’t the only one. I haven’t felt like this since..in the longest time. You make me so happy, and I’ve spend the entire time since I found out about my tumour just fucking around trying to enjoy life, but you truly made it worthwhile, you..”

Louis sucks in a breath, and leans in to kiss him. Harry kisses back sloppily, heart hammering endlessly in his chest.

“You’ve made me feel joy again, and I’ll never be able to properly articulate how thankful I am for that. Please don’t cry. Baby, I’m right here.”

Harry can’t stop fucking crying, even as Louis cuddles in close and promises he will be okay. Because he won’t. He won’t be okay. And he was right, neither of them have a choice in that. He understands now. He understands what Louis meant every time he said he can’t stay even if he wanted to. What he meant when he said Harry will never see him again. What he meant when he said that falling in love will only lead to him getting hurt.

He feels like he’s having a nightmare. He can’t think, can barely speak around his constant painful emotions, and Louis just holds him through it all, scratching his scalp and kissing his swollen cheeks, as if Harry’s the one who needs comforting. As if he’s the one who’s going to die.

A few months, he’d said. If he’s lucky.

Eventually, he passes out, emotionally exhausted, and absolutely no clue how to process any of it.

-

“Sleeping in the car was a terrible idea.” Louis says the next morning in the crisps aisle of a random petrol station in Leeds.

Harry steps up behind him and reaches up, massages the back of his neck gently. The boy makes a soft noise, leaning back against him.

“After the trip, you’re going to go to another country?”

“Yeah, I didn’t lie about that.”

“Where?”

“Dunno. Plan is to just go to the airport and choose whichever sounds most interesting. I just..I don’t want to be around anyone who loves me when I get really bad, which is soon.”

Harry closes his eyes, hands stilling on the boy’s neck as his stomach turns. It’s been nearly half a day but he still feels fuzzy. Like there’s water in his ears or something. Just like that, tears spring to his eyes again.

“Stay with me, Lou. Let me love you for t-the rest of your life.”

Louis sets the bag of crisps down and turns in his arms, reaching up to swipe away his tears.

“I want you to remember me like this. Mostly healthy. Lucid. It would be selfish of me to stay with you. Make you see me get bad just for more time.”

“Nothing would be more selfish than to die alone, rather than in the arms of the person who loves you most.” Harry’s breathing gets a bit choppy again, and Louis hushes him gently, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t get upset. I’ll think about it, okay? Come on, let’s get these snacks and get back on the road.”

So they do, and continue on in a daze. Harry can’t take a hand off of him for longer than seconds at a time, just to feel that he’s here. Okay. For now.

He’s still waiting to wake up from the nightmare.

-

The York hotel offers delivered breakfast, so they sit in the bed early the next morning and feed each other bacon. Louis tosses up grapes and makes a huge mess, missing most of them. When he finally catches one, he cheers loud enough that they risk getting a noise complaint.

It’s the first time they’ve both smiled since Louis told his secret.

“What are your, um, symptoms?” Harry works up the courage to ask somewhere between the grapes and the waffles. Louis ordered the entire menu, it seems.

“You really want to know?”

“I want to know everything. Every single thing you’ve been keeping to yourself.”

Louis nods, and drizzles his waffle with far too much syrup as he talks.

“My vision blurs randomly, and for varying amounts of time. Sometimes it’s hours and sometimes it’s just a minute. It can be just a little blur, making it hard to read a map, but once or twice it’s been bad enough that it’s all just shapes and shadows.”

Harry nods, finally understanding the map thing. How Louis had peered out the window afterwards and was blinking as if trying to clear his vision. Harry’d noticed that, why didn’t he say anything?

“You’ve seen the vomiting. It’s never a whole lot, and it’s definitely not as bad as it was when I was on chemo. I get weak, too. Like how you said I was more tired in the last few days, I’m really just weak. It takes a lot of energy, the bugger,” Louis pats his own head, and Harry winces, eyes stuck on the spot. The boy takes his hand, smiling gently.

“And I get lightheaded a lot. I..I see my family, sometimes. Weird flashes of things that I know aren’t normal, too. I wasn’t sleepwalking, I was, like, hallucinating. I didn’t lie, it does happen sometimes.”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry.” Harry murmurs, wiping at his eyes. Every time he thinks he couldn’t possibly cry anymore, they’re wetting up again.

“Hey, I know it sounds fucked but I’m lucky in a way. Some people get seizures. Big violent ones with permanent aftershocks. Some people forget how to speak or become paralysed.”

Harry shivers at the thought, touching at Louis’ knuckles with knitted eyebrows.

“M-maybe you haven’t visited the right doctor, I could—“

“No, don’t do that. Please don’t try to do that. I spent months in hospitals. More months than I can remember to count. I tried chemo, I really did. It didn’t do shit to the thing. I let myself get false hope from every new ‘incredible surgeon’ they called in to take a look at my scans. It was always the same thing in the end. One or two said they could try to operate, and if I somehow got a miracle and didn’t die on the table, I could possibly get out on a ventilator for the rest of my life. Or unable to speak. Or unable to move anything, even the muscles of my face,”

Louis shudders at the memories Harry can’t see, and their hands both squeeze in each other’s. Comforting even as they need comforted.

“And eventually they called in this guy from Canada, who sat me down and just told it to me straight. Surgery wasn’t an option, so I had a choice. Either I brave through more torturous chemo and possibly live another painful year, or I spend the next handful of months enjoying the life I have left until my organs eventually decide to go bung. I assume you can deduce which one I picked.”

Harry nods, wiping at his eyes again.

“I wish I could make it better.”

Louis’ mouth twists and he shakes his head like Harry’s being silly, before he presses him back against the mattress, climbing onto him and kissing him.

“You do make it better. Every day. I accepted what’s going to happen ages ago. I’ve made peace with it.”

“What’s something you want to do before? Like, something you don’t think you can have.”

Louis huffs a laugh, shaking his head. The movement causes his fringe to fall over his eyes, and Harry’s chest flutters with the beauty of it. Of him.

“You can’t give it to me, sugar daddy.” He drawls, rolling his eyes. Even as he’s playful, it sounds sad.

“Tell me anyway.” Harry pleads, tucking the spiky strands behind his ear.

“I suppose if I could choose, I’d wish I could see winter one more time. It’s my favourite season,” he shrugs like it’s not a big deal, “I’ll be lucky to see to the end of autumn, though, so I’m not pushing it.”

Harry takes a shaky breath and nods, leaning up to kiss him. He tastes like syrup and bacon, and it hurts more than anything he’s ever experienced to know he won’t be able to feel him like this for the rest of his life.

-

“Please tell me we aren’t camping again. Like, I’m all for tents and shit but I like the comfort of a nice hotel air con.”

Harry snorts, shaking his head fondly.

“No, we aren’t camping, but York doesn’t offer the place I want to go, so we’re changing the plans a bit.”

“And what could _Bradford_ possibly have that York doesn’t?”

**(7)**

“Mm, lovely timing.” Harry grins and pulls off into the parking lot. Louis opens his mouth to probably sass him a bit, when he sees the sign on the building and goes quiet.

Harry parks the car and gets out excitedly. He rounds to the other side and pulls the boy out while he’s still shell-shocked.

“You didn’t.” Louis says, even as he looks at the clear evidence he did.

“I did,” Harry calls from the boot. He closes it up, hands Louis a jumper and pulls on his own, “come on, lets head in before we burn up in these.”

Driving an hour down to Bradford ice arena to give Louis winter would be a lot more romantic if Harry wasn’t so bleeding shit at it.

“Bend your knees!” Louis says, eyes already teary from laughter. Harry’s fallen twice already because he keeps trying to do spins before actually learning to just skate normally.

“Am I losing attractive points with this?” Harry asks, their mittened hands clutched together as his ice skates pigeon toe together once again. He offers his best pout and Louis giggles, reaching over to pinch his cheek.

“Nah, you make clumsy cute somehow.”

Harry grins so wide he forgets to pay attention to his feet, and is toppling down onto the ice and bringing Louis right down with him.

“Fuck, you alright?” The elder asks, slipping onto his knees next to him and brushing a curl out of his eye.

“Physically, yeah, but my dignity is barely hanging on.” Harry sighs, knowing his cheeks are pink in humiliation. It’s a miracle he hasn’t sliced anyone let with his flailing, blade-wielding feet.

“And you say _I’m_ the dramatic one.” Louis rolls his eyes, but his smile is yet to fade.

“Here I was,” Harry starts obnoxiously, “trying to be romantic! And my body fails me!”

“I love you.”

Harry looks at him, eyes widening. Louis is just smiling softly down at him, eyes so blue, nose pink from the cold of the ice under them. The noise of the other skater’s blades and the song echoing through the arena’s speakers sort of falls away a bit.

“What?”

“Are you pretending you didn’t hear me so I’ll say it again?”

“Yes.” Harry admits, grinning. Louis matches his smile and leans down, kissing him gently.

“I love you. Thank you for giving me winter.”

-

Louis seems a bit more energetic by the time they reach York again the next day, so they get up at a decent time and enjoy the day out.

By that, Harry means Louis enjoys the day and Harry enjoys watching him do so.

“You’re staring more than usual.” The boy says while they swing idly, side by side at Homestead Park. Harry kicks at the rubber mulch under their feet and shrugs, not looking away.

“Not staring, appreciating.” He corrects, smiling when Louis laughs, looking away with a light flush.

“When did you get so flirty?”

“I’ve always been flirty, you’re just only noticing it now.”

“Nah, I reckon the love confession just made you bolder.” Louis leers to him, kicking off a bit so he’s actually swinging.

“Maybe I just realised life’s too short not to say what’s on my mind.” Harry’s voice rasps a bit, and he looks away to the children playing tag across the park. He’s always loved kids. Always known he wants them someday. He aches knowing they won’t be with Louis.

“Hey,” the boy says, slowing his swinging and kicking out his foot to tap his, “I’m right here. Let’s agree not to be sad on holiday, yeah?”

“If you plan to leave after this trip I’m afraid I can’t make that promise.” Harry looks to him. Louis sighs softly and looks away, mouth set in a thin line.

The silence lingers for a few minutes, and they both watch the kids, the air stagnant. Things left unsaid. Things undone which will never be done.

“You know, they say if you find the Heart of Yorkshire here and kiss underneath it, you’ll stay together forever.” Louis says after a while, standing up and holding out a hand like he’s asking for a dance.

“Forever?” Harry repeats in disbelief, eyes prickling. Even as he does, he takes the boy’s hand and stands up. Louis reaches up and touches a thumb under his eye, as if he’s willing the tears not to fall.

“It would be _my_ forever. You’re my first real love, did you know that?” He sounds like he’s trying to cheer him up, so Harry sucks in a breath and attempts to do so, working up a smile he hopes doesn’t come across as watery as he feels it might be. 

“Really?”

“You sound surprised. I’m not your first, then?”

“No, you are. You just seem, like, experienced is all.” Harry shrugs, squeezing at Louis’ fingers as they start walking away from the swings.

“Nope. I mean, obviously I dated people through my school years and stuff but nothing serious. Then it wasn’t long after Donny that I started spending loads of time in hospitals. Boyfriends tend not to enjoy being around that scene.” He shrugs, nonchalant.

“So I’m your first.” Harry concludes, heart fluttering. Louis smiles, nodding and swinging their joined hands. He’s wearing a ridiculously terrible vest over a sleeveless shirt, absolutely clashing with his bright purple chinos. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Harry’s come to the conclusion that he looks good in anything.

“And my last.” Louis says, softly and almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard. Harry takes a shaky deep breath, and continues on. One foot after the other. Baby steps. Living in each little moment and cherishing every bit. Memorising every minuscule detail of Louis and his mind.

He knows he will need it later. When he’s left to just that. Memories.

-

On the way to Lake District, they stop in Richmond for lunch. Louis seems happy today, picking his lettuce from his sandwich and tossing slivers of it across the table for Harry to catch in his mouth.

“You’re so shit at catching things.” Louis giggles, tossing another piece. It hits Harry in the chin and joins the rest of the green pile on the table.

“Not true, I can juggle.”

“Bullshit.” Louis halts completely, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“No, I actually can.” Harry says, standing up and grabbing three oranges from the fruit stand against the wall. People stare on because they’re being rudely loud, but he doesn’t pay any mind, setting a knee on his chair and juggling the oranges. He tosses them around a few times, before catching them and setting them back down. Louis is clapping excitedly, eyes bright.

“How the fuck am I only just finding this out?”

“I suppose juggling isn’t a common enough topic.”

“You should use it to pick up a lay. Reckon it’ll work.”

“Are you calling my skills with balls hot?” Harry wriggles his eyebrows, and Louis shakes his head, picking up the rest of his lettuce and throwing it at him. It sticks in his hair and doesn’t fall.

“No, I’m saying you need something interesting to distract from your weird chin.”

Harry touches at his chin with a pout, pulling the lettuce from his hair with his other hand.

“I don’t need a lay anyway.”

“I mean after. Later.” Louis waves his hand dismissively, as if it’s not his entire existence they’re talking about.

“Reckon I won’t want one then either.” Harry says. His heart doesn’t plummet at the mention of it anymore, but his stomach still flips. He isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

“You will eventually. You won’t spend forever getting over me and be alone at eighty with a dozen cats.” He chuckles like the thought sounds funny to him. It probably does.

“I want to be eighty and have a dozen cats with _you_ , so I’m not sure about that.” 

Louis stops picking at his sandwich bread, frowning. His eyes dim a bit, looking at him, and Harry immediately wishes he could make it disappear. They aren’t supposed to be sad on holiday. It’s hard to remember when he feels sad pretty much constantly now. Especially at times like these, when they’ve laughed and goofed off to the point where he forgets for a moment.

Then he remembers and it all comes back, somehow stronger than before.

“Please don’t spend your whole life stuck on me, H. You need to move on after, yeah? Go become a famous rockstar and get married and have a dozen cats and kids with someone else.” His eyes look far away, eyebrows furrowed like the thought hurts but is still necessary. Harry wishes he could stop killing the mood, so he reaches for him, taking his hand.

“Only if you’re one of them.” He murmurs, and turns Louis’ palm up, reaching down and touching at the cat tattoo’d on his wrist. Their bandages are removed, but the ink is still healing, raised up above the skin and pink around the lines.

“Sure, Haz. I’ll convince whatever God is out there to let me reincarnate as one of your dozen cats. Come sit in your lap and purr when you’re sad.” He smiles like they’re sharing an inside joke. And they sort of are, actually.

Harry smiles right back, and lifts Louis’ hand to kiss at his knuckles.

“I love you.” He says, watching crinkles appear at the corners of the boy’s pretty eyes. Blue like the ocean.

“I love you too.” Louis replies just as softly, and Harry’s heart flutters. It’s enough. For now.

After lunch, the car doesn’t start. Harry finds a payphone outside the sandwich shop and calls a mechanic. After unloading their bags from the boot, the man gives them an address to pick up from and tows the car, saying it will be fixed within 48 hours.

So they’re stuck in Richmond for a night or two. Harry wants to be annoyed about it, because they were meant to just pass on through and go to Lake District. He’s been saving it for last for a reason, but Louis is strangely optimistic, tossing his duffel over his shoulder and setting off to walk through the town and find a place to sleep.

He makes it an adventure. Somehow, the boy who’s dying before the year is up and won’t live to see the 1900s turn to 2000 is smiling ear to ear like Harry’s wearing vehicle is a blessing.

With a sigh, Harry follows along Louis’ skipping and smiles at his loud way of appreciating the pretty little town. Maybe he should learn something from that. Maybe he can just chill out and enjoy life as it comes, rather than fret about ruined plans.

After checking into the first quaint little inn they find, they set off with one of the inn’s tourism pamphlets and find themselves checking out the great pagoda and the temperate house. The rectangular showhouse with pitched roofs holds the largest plants in Kew Gardens.

Louis seems pretty interested, touching the leaves of every plant they pass, gentle fingers avoiding any petals of flowers. The green looks look around him, brings out the darker hues of his eyes.

Harry could design a whole wardrobe using the different shades of his eyes, wear it for the rest of his life. Maybe he will, once those eyes are nothing but memories.

He takes a breath, reaching down to touch his knuckles. Louis’ hand turns and catches his before he’s even glanced over to see the frown on his face.

“Hey, want to steal a plant?”

“We can’t get out of here with one of these, Lou.” Harry shakes his head, looking around at the large potted plants. There’s no way they’d get out of the door holding one of these things. Especially not if they’re giggling like children like Louis always does when he’s stealing something.

“You’re probably right. C’mon, let’s find a dark corner nobody will find us in.” The boy doesn’t provide any explanation why, tugging him away from the shelves of plants and people scattered around. There’s an area where nobody seems to be, and that’s where they go, crouching down somewhere behind some ferns while Louis fumbles for his lighter.

“Is there a certain reason why you only enjoy smoking in places we shouldn’t?” Harry asks, but takes the joint when handed.

“It’s only fun if there’s a chance we’ll get in trouble, Harriet.” Louis informs, rolling his eyes like this should be common knowledge. Harry smiles, and watches the smoke curl out of Louis’ lips and up between them. He’s so unfairly pretty.

“I love you.” He says, because it’s all that his brain seems to be thinking these days. Louis smiles, and his eyes are all crinkly and beautiful.

“Love you more.”

“Seriously? Are we twelve?”

“I sincerely hope you weren’t confessing your love on an impulsive roadtrip while smoking pot in a botanical garden at twelve years old.” They both know it’s not what he meant, but Harry laughs anyway, takes the joint back. They finish it off, and the rest of the walkthrough is considerably prettier.

It takes him far too long to realise Louis’ cheered him up, made him forget for a while. It’s lovely. _He’s_ lovely.

Harry wishes it were enough to really forget.

-

Back at the inn, they find a little drawer that the host has filled with board games, so they sit on the soft carpet of the den and play Battleship.

“G3.” Louis pipes, and Harry curses softly, pouting down at his poor wee ship. 

“Sunk. B7?”

“Miss.”

“How is that possible? You’ve sunk three of mine!” Harry shakes his head down at his board as he picks up yet another white peg and stabs it into B7. He hasn’t had a single hit yet, and with how many ships there are, surely he’d have at least one by now?

He looks up to find a glint in Louis’ eyes, and he narrows his own suspiciously.

“Louis..do you have your ships placed?”

“What? Are you calling me a cheater, Hazza?” Louis replies, blinking at him oh-so innocently.

“You didn’t answer the question.” Harry says, and before either of them can say anything more, he rocks forward and pulls down the boards to have a look. Louis’ board is filled with pegs, but not a single ship.

“Louis!”

“It wasn’t me! It was the-the monarchy! Queen’s orders, Curly, I couldn’t disobey,” something must show on Harry’s face, because Louis reaches into his lap and picks up all of his hidden ships, tosses the handful at him, and then takes off with a shriek.

Harry gives chase immediately, and the room is quite small, the inn not being particularly lavish, so he catches him in the hallway and crowds him against the wall.

“I can’t believe you cheated at fucking _Battleship_.”

“Couldn’t let you win or you’d gloat about it forever.” Louis reasons, and Harry can’t help but huff a laugh.

“Seriously? You realise this means I win by default, right? Cheating means you’re disqualified.”

Louis’ eyes are shiny as he pouts exaggeratedly, as if losing in a board game is the worst thing of all time.

“No, I won.” He says, and then his hands drift up Harry’s chest, link around his neck and fiddle with the hair falling there.

“Are you trying to seduce me into giving you bragging rights?”

“No, but winning has really reminded me that I’ve yet to ride you.”

Harry swallows thickly, falling victim to it as he watches Louis’ tongue dart out to moisten his lips. He’s too hot for his own good. Harry fits a leg between his thighs, leaning down to brush their lips together. They haven’t done anything in a few days. Anything below the belt, anyway.

Death is a pretty big mood killer, as it turns out.

“You want to?” Harry asks against his lips, lifting Louis’ shirt to thumb at the cut of his hipbones.

“Only if I won.”

Harry just chuckles and pulls him away from the wall, dragging him into the bedroom and pressing him to the mattress. The boy giggles, even as he tries to wriggle out of it. It feels fickle, their mood. Like one step the wrong way will bring it all crashing down.

“Be still.” Harry murmurs into his sweet skin, teeth sinking into the spot above his collarbone. Louis giggles again, more breathy than anything. His hands are tangled deep in Harry’s hair, seem to be there more often than not.

He’s not complaining.

“You taste like love feels.”

“No need to charm me, m’ already in your bed.” Louis says, cheeks pink when Harry lifts an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not charming you, I’m appreciating you.”

Louis squirms again, and Harry holds him still, hands on his hips as he sucks love bites into every available sliver of skin.

“Can you..appreciate me a little quicker?” The boy sighs, hips lifting to make the tent in his shorts more obvious. Harry hides a smile in his neck and reaches down to help him out of his constrictions.

“Nope, taking my time tonight.” He says, digging his point in by thumbing Louis’ inner thigh, so close to where he wants it but not actually there.

“Fuckin’ tease. You waiting for me to say you won? Cause I’m not going to.”

Harry chuckles, reaching down and swiping Louis’ pants away as well with one quick movement, causing him to whimper at the sudden cool air.

“Not waiting for anything. Just relax.” He soothes, then finds the lube in the bags they’ve conveniently thrown in the floor at the bottom of the bed. Louis sits up a bit and shucks his shirt, which is really nice because Harry decides he’d rather like to see how sensitive the boy’s nipples are while he fingers him open.

Louis shifts on the bed but doesn’t complain when Harry presses in a finger extremely slowly. It could be the lips around his nipple as well, but he isn’t going to lift up and ask about it.

There’s just something about him tonight. About this. The way Louis moves, the sounds he makes, the heart beating under Harry’s lips as he switches to the left side of his chest. He closes his eyes, memorising the beat. He could write a song to the rhythm, probably.

Fits a second finger into him and tries not to think about that heart stopping.

“Louis,” he murmurs, lifting away from his newly-perked nipple and watching his face as he scissors his fingers.

“Mm?” His eyes are closed, one hand still in Harry’s hair and the other clutching the sheet next to his head. The position has his bicep on display.

“Louis.” Harry whispers again, adding a third finger.

“Anything to add to that, H?” Louis asks, eyes opening to smile questionably. He’s pretty from every angle. Harry can’t help but tilt up and kiss him a bit.

“Louis.” He repeats a third time, softly against his lips, and removes his fingers. He doesn’t have an explanation for it. For the way he just loves the sound of his name. It fits him perfectly, his name. At the crinkle of the condom, Louis’ breath catches and he reaches down blindly, stopping him.

“If you’d like.” The elder murmurs, the answer to an unspoken question. Harry sucks in a sharp breath and tosses the condom.

“As if I’d turn that down in a million years.” He pulls away to yank his shirt off, shoving his jeans off as well with little finesse. He’s a bit desperate, admittedly. Maybe they should talk about going bareback before they just do it, even though neither of them have been in the sack for a while before this trip.

He presses the tip of his cock to Louis’ rim, and the boy reaches down to clutch his arm, eyes dilated and trusting. He presses in, and they both groan. It feels incredible. Tight warm heat around him, no thin layer of latex separating them. The closest they could ever physically be.

“You feel so good.” Harry praises, nosing up Louis’ jaw and loving the way he just lifts up for him, giving him room. Loving the way he anything. Loving him.

“You feel even better.” Louis responds breathlessly as he bottoms out. His mouth is slacked, lips pink from the kissing. Harry pulls back and thrusts in slowly, so he feels every inch one by one.

The younger feels like his skin is on fire, every moment spent breathing in each other’s air feels like the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention. He wants to stay here in this bed with him. In a cute little inn they were never planned to stay into.

“Don’t..have to be gentle. M’ not made of glass.” Louis gasps a minute later, reaching up to tug on his curls. Harry groans, nuzzling into his neck and touching a kiss there.

“Porcelain.” He argues, tongue darting out and dancing over the shell of his ear, accentuating his point with a harder thrust. Louis laughs, a short breathless sound.

“I’m too tan to be porcelain, love.” He counters, and then Harry realises the boy is far too coherent right now.

He reaches down and hooks a hand under his knee, folds him up a bit and fucks him hard. The elder moans, fringe splaying out over the pillow when he tips his head back.

“Stay with me, Lou.” Harry murmurs, pitching his hips hard enough that Louis would surely inch up the bed with the movements if he weren’t holding him in place.

“F-fuck.” Louis replies, fingers tightening in his hair and the other digging crescent moons into his bicep.

“Stay with me forever. For your forever.” Harry begs, eyes welling at the way Louis’ forehead creases immediately. Like he wants to argue but can’t find the words.

“Please—“

“Shove it.” Louis mumbles, hand leaving his hair and trailing down to his chest, where he starts to push at him. Harry whines and rolls over, remembering he was promised to be ridden anyway.

“Louis..” he pleads, as the boy situates onto his lap. Blue eyes meet his, sharp and bright. Nimble fingers reach for his chin, a thumb tracing his bottom lip.

“Shh, baby. No more fretting.” He presses him gently back, down flat on the duvet. Harry goes, and clutches Louis’ thighs as the boy sinks down onto him with a shuddery gasp.

“But—“

“No, no more. Lie there and don’t whine.” Louis’ voice rasps a bit, and he circles his hips, the sensation quite something.

Harry obeys, and watches in awe as the boy rides him, sweat clinging to his hairline and muscles twitching in his thighs. He has some lovely thighs. Harry touches at them the entire time, hips jumping to meet his thrusts as he barrels closer to oblivion.

“I love you.” He mumbles, hand lifting from his thigh and petting up his hip, over his flat stomach, then down to his cock, red and bouncing between him.

Louis comes after three strokes, bending over him with a wet gasp. He shivers through the aftershocks, but doesn’t stop. His orgasm causes him to clench deliciously hard around him, and Harry’s eyes roll back in his head as he comes as well. It’s much different this time, because there’s no barrier of the condom between them.

It’s wet and messy as he pulls out, and he reaches around to feel his own come seeping out of the boy. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and yet his spent cock gives a feeble twitch as if it could go again.

“Lou,” Harry mumbles, taking his hand as the boy catches his breath atop him. His breath breaks on emotion, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m thinking about it. It’s not a no.” Louis reassures, fingers combing through his hair.

“It’s also not a yes.” Harry mumbles, losing his eyes and lying back with a defeated sigh.

“Thought we agreed not to be sad on holiday?”

“You’re fucking _dying_ , Louis. Please don’t expect me to be happy.”

Louis exhales softly, fingers touching at his closed eyelids.

“Okay, I’ll be happy for both of us, then.”

“What’s the point?”

Louis’ fingers stop moving, but Harry only opens his eyes when the boy abruptly stands up. He sits up, watching Louis snatch up a flannel and wipe himself down messily, before yanking on a pair of joggers.

“What—“

“Don’t you dare ask what’s wrong,” Louis points at him angrily, eyes blazing, “how could you say that? How could you ask me what the point is? Don’t you realise how little time we have?!”

“Of course I do.”

“There’s no fucking time to sit around crying about it, Harold. There’s no time to even process it. It’s going to happen either way!” He’s shouting, now, and out of nowhere he starts to cry, hands shaking as he fumbles with his duffel and desperately tries to find his stash for a smoke.

Harry stands up, heart climbing in his throat, and pulls the boy close, stopping his frantic searching. Louis turns and grasps his arm tightly, eyes filled to the brim with tears when they meet his.

“Don’t you think I’m fucking heartbroken that we won’t get to do literally anything I grew up wanting to do with someone I loved? Don’t you think I want to live to see the day that we could legally get married? Don’t you think I want to have a million kids and dogs and cats and _everything_ with you? You keep putting all this fucking decision shit on me as if I’m not losing you too!”

Harry gapes, stomach flipping as he pulls him closer, not letting him escape and run. Louis stops struggling and just collapses a bit against him. He begins to cling, then, arms tight and sobs wracking his whole body.

“I’m losing you too.” Louis repeats, holding him tighter as if one of them will just be snapped away into dust.

“Forgive me,” Harry squeezes his eyes closed, kissing his hair, “forgive me.”

Louis just squeezes him impossibly closer, shivering now like he’s cold, or maybe he’s just over-emotional.

“There _is_ a point, Haz. I want us to be happy, at least for this trip. When you’re left with just memories I want you to have good ones. I want you to remember me smiling, not like this. I can’t—I can’t let myself get like this or I’ll never fucking get out,” Louis pulls away, leaking eyes meeting his as he talks through his tears.

“I’ve had this thing accepted for months. I’m a fucking orphan with a sister I don’t talk to and friends who don’t know me. I had it all sorted. There was nobody to miss me, but there was also nobody for _me_ to miss. You can’t let me get fucked.”

“I won’t.” Harry says immediately, cupping his cheek.

“Don’t let me lose myself. I want you to remember me happy. Please,” Louis starts to breathe in a scary irregular way, “baby, please, you can’t—“

“I won’t. I promise, I promise. You’re always smiling when I think of you.” Harry tugs him back to the bed, crawls the both of them under the duvet. They’re a right mess, crying and murmuring nonsensically to each other, heads tucked under the cloth like they’re children hiding from monsters under the bed.

“I’m not ready to go.” Louis whispers, an hour later, pressed against the skin of his collarbone, wrapped around each other to the point where they’re nearly one entente.

Harry closes his eyes against the fresh well of tears, and presses a kiss to his puffy cheek. It feels inadequate. He feels powerless. Helpless. Worthless, almost.

“I love you.” He replies, because it’s all he has. It’s all he can give. He wishes it were enough.

-

**(8)**

The next day feels dull in a way that seems uncontrollable.

The sun shines just as much as it always does in the summer, lovely and warm, the breeze cool and making the air quite comfortable. None of it can cheer Harry’s mood.

Louis staying after the trip has become something else in his mind after last night. It’s no longer something he wants. It’s something he needs, and will fight tooth and nail to get if he has to.

In the cab to King Henry’s Mound, he looks over to see Louis is fiddling with a small gold cross necklace around his neck.

“Where’d you get that?” Harry asks, not recognising it. As far as he’s seen, Louis doesn’t usually go for jewellery unless it’s a stolen ring.

“Found it in the lost belongings box at the temperate house.”

“Ah, so you stole it?” Harry nods, noticing the cabbie eyeing them suspiciously from the front seat. Louis reaches over, going for his balls, but Harry catches his wrist before he can reach.

“We’ve been over this, Curly. It’s not stealing, it’s finding.”

“You saying it doesn’t make it true. I like your outfit today.”

“Me outfit?” Louis repeats, looking down at it and rolling his eyes, “only because it’s so normal. I forgot Jerry.”

Harry smiles, touching at the sleeves of his thin jumper. The boy’s jumper is grey, tucked into some nice jeans and accentuating his thin figure, the cuffs of his jeans rolled just enough so they aren’t touching at his white trainers.

“I bet he’s back at the inn having a cry as we speak.” Harry says, half-heartedly continuing the banter as he looks him over. If Louis is annoyed by his blatant admiring, he doesn’t say, watching the village pass by through the window.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“King Henry’s Mound. It’s thought to be the spot King Henry VIII stood to watch a rocket or summat.” Harry says, vaguely remembering the significance of the mound from the pamphlet he’d looked over that morning. His timing turns out to be quite nice, as they pull into the lot just after.

Harry pays the cabbie and then they set out through the park, following the pathways and marked signs. Louis seems relatively at ease today, eyes looking over the trees and other walkers as they find their way through.

“I think I’m going to buy a camera.”

Louis looks to him, eyebrow raising.

“So you can take creepy photos of me sleeping?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Harry grins, “nothing crazy. Just one of those disposable cheap things. I just wish I’d documented more of the trip. So it won’t just be memories.”

“I like the thought of that, though. Like, it’s just ours in a way. You take photos and someone else finds them, then suddenly they have a piece of it.” Louis waves his hand dismissively, nose crinkled.

“I don’t want to forget.” Harry says, taking his waving hand. One day he won’t remember what this feels like, their hands pressed together, and he’d rather like to at least have photos.

“If you forget this road trip I’m definitely going to haunt you.” Louis scolds, hand squeezing his.

“Don’t joke about it.” Harry replies, but can’t help his smile anyway. Louis laughs freely, then makes an excited noise, breaking away from their hand-holding and jogging up to the telescope at the top of the mound.

“What am I looking at?” The boy asks, stood up on the step and cupping his hands over his eyes, peering through the scope.

“Well currently you’re looking at some trees. Go west and you’ll see Thames Valley. East and you’ll see St. Paul’s.” Harry reads over the sign near the lookout point.

“St. Paul’s from here, really? Oh wait, I see it!” Louis gasps excitedly, as if the view is the most fun they’ve had this entire trip. Harry smiles fondly, watching him ooo and ahh at the views.

“Louis, please stay with me after the trip.”

The boy sighs and lifts away from the scope, levelling him with a stare.

“Harold, tell me, why on earth would I stick around Manchester when I could be seeing a country I’ve never been to?”

“You can. I’m asking you to take me with you.”

Louis blinks, and steps down from the telescope and up to him. They’re leaned up against the lookout, an incredible view just out the corner of their eyes. Neither of them look to see it.

“You want to come? I don’t know where I’m going, y’know. It could be some shit country with nothing to do.”

“Alright.”

“Don’t you have school, also? Doesn’t your next term start up soon?”

“There will always be terms when I come back.” Harry shrugs. Louis chews on his lip, eyebrows knitting together.

“When I said I’d think about it, I was referring to me staying here.”

“I know, and I’m telling you now that you don’t have to choose. Now I’m just asking if you’ll let me tag along.”

“I’m only going to get worse. You realise that, right? I’m going to keep getting worse and then I’m going to fail.”

Harry swallows thickly, reaching out to take his hip and pull him closer.

“I know. I’m going to be there for you the entire time.”

“Even if I decide to do every impulsive shitty thing I can just because I’ve never done it?”

“Louis, I want you to make a _list_ of things you’ve never done and I want to ensure you get to do them all.”

Louis’ cheeks pink just a tad. He steps closer, toes to his, and fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

“Sounds expensive.”

“I’m loaded, remember? Since when do you care about spending my money?”

“Not _your_ money.” Louis mumbles, like he can’t help it. Harry smiles, leaning down to kiss his temple.

“Will you stay with me? Will you let me stay with you?” He asks, pleads, begs.

Louis pulls him into a hug, and then there’s wet eyelashes against his jaw and lips touching to his neck.

“Until my last breath.” The boy answers.

Harry closes his eyes, and the relief sags through him like weights being lifted. They don’t get forever, but they get Louis’ forever. It’s not enough, but it’s something.

It’s something.

-

When Harry wakes up to the sound of sick falling into a toilet bowl, he climbs out of bed this time.

The fuzzy digital clock on the bed stand tells him it’s nearly six. He stumbles across the carpet and into the toilet. Louis is wiping tissue paper over his mouth, eyes wet from heaving, hair sticking up in all directions. The tissue comes back a vibrant red.

Harry kneels down next to him, knees cracking a bit, and runs gentle fingers up his bare back, over the knobs of his spine.

“What do you need?” He asks, voice croaky. Louis sits up with a sniffle and flushes the toilet, then turns to him, shuffling closer and leaning against his side, forehead to his shoulder.

“Jus’ need you.” The boy answers, throat raspy from the sick. Harry turns and kisses his clammy cheek, continuing his gentle massage over his back.

“We can sleep in, if you’d like. It’s only about a forty minute drive to Lake District.”

“Mm. Miss your sweet ride.” Louis murmurs. Harry huffs a laugh, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“You only love me for my car.”

“It’s true,” he murmurs, and Harry expects something witty and probably offensive to come out of his mouth next. “I do love you.”

Harry exhales shakily, fingers stilling on his back. He realises then that today isn’t a chaotic day. Can feel it in the slow, almost weak way Louis breathes against him. The way he’s leaned completely into him, as if he can’t hold himself up or something.

“I love you too.” He replies, and his stomach twists as he realises that Louis being drained of energy is the lightest of symptoms he has, and yet it hurts this much to see him that way.

It hits him then and there, huddled together on the cool tile of a tiny inn in Richmond, that this is the healthiest he will know him as. It’s going to hurt. Louis, obviously, but him as well. It’s going to be the most painful thing he will experience, to see the boy deteriorate right in front of his eyes.

He isn’t ready. He isn’t ready in the _slightest_.

Then again, he doesn’t think he could ever be.

-

The cottage Harry’s rented is conveniently placed right down the road from a nice candlelight restaurant.

“This is lovely.” He comments as they walk through the small cottage, smiling at the little kitchenette and the soft couch. They’re most definitely going to watch a movie sat there sometime.

“Huh, there’s a poem here. Says it was written by William Wordsworth, who was inspired after seeing the park we’re going to later.” Louis stands in front of a framed poem on the wall. Harry steps up behind him, pulling him against his chest as he reads through the poem. It’s all about dancing in daffodils and how nice the park is. The place has inspired a plethora of artists and literature, apparently. There’s a reason Harry saved it for last, after all.

“I was thinking we could go check it out for sunset, and see about some food first?” Harry leans down to give his neck a kiss or two. Louis’ head tilts and he hums, hands threading through his over his stomach.

“That’d be nice. Do we have to walk? I’m a bit tired.”

“No, we can drive.” Harry smiles, but they don’t move for a while, just enjoying the feeling of embracing and reading over a nice poem.

-

Bellies full and wine lightly staining Louis’ top lip, they drive over to Lake District National Park. There’s many trails to hike and paths to follow, but since the boy is feeling a bit drained, Harry drives them to a lookout point that they can park at.

With the sun setting and the slight altitude, Harry brings a thin throw blanket for Louis and the lad smiles in thanks as they move to sit on the hood.

It’s absolutely beautiful, hills and flowing water and yellow flowers and trees surrounding it all. It’s like something from a movie or a painting. Being up here, he can see how poets and artists would find inspiration. He’s feeling inspired himself, ghosts of lyrics flowing through his head vaguely as they take it all in. He definitely picked the best spot for last, and is already dreading having to go back to Manchester tomorrow.

**(10)**

Harry glances over to see Louis’ reaction, finds the boy looking out towards the horizon, a soft smile adorning his face.

The elder looks over, feeling the eyes on him, and tugs the blanket tighter around him, leaning closer.

“Promise me you’ll be okay.” He says, voice a light rasp, as if speaking any louder would disrupt the nature. He doesn’t need to elaborate.

“I’m sure I will be, eventually.” Harry replies, not wanting to be negative about it, even as he isn’t so sure he’s telling the truth.

“Promise me you’ll find someone else..give him all the love you couldn’t give me.” Louis’ eyes never leave his, swimming with a serious glaze. Harry swallows thickly as his stomach turns.

“I’ll never love anyone like I’ve loved you.” He frowns, and Louis leans in to touch a kiss to his jaw.

“Try, please.”

“Okay.”

Louis pulls away, gives him a smile which fades after a few seconds as he looks out to the view.

“It’s beautiful.”

“That’s why I saved it for last.”

Harry can’t look away from him, so he watches the boy’s eyebrows furrow, his breath stutter, before the lad reaches down and takes his hand.

“What does it look like?”

Harry’s heart thrums, watching his pretty blue eyes stare out, but unseeing. Dilated. He’s gone blurry. Likely has been this whole time.

“Imagine a pretty landscape painting. That’s what it’s like. Trees and grass and water.”

“Mm. Monet or Constable?”

“Monet for sure.” Harry replies, turning his nose to the boy’s hair, hiding the tears welling in his eyes. Louis’ hand fumbles in his, shaking a bit as they quiet down for a moment. The sun is nearly out, orange, pink, and yellows spreading over the sky.

“Harry.” Louis says his name for quite literally the first time, soft into his shoulder.

“Yeah?” Harry wonders if the boy can feel his heart, pounding against his ribcage.

“I figured out my first request for the bucket list.”

“Anything, my love.” He promises, and a shiver rises over his skin as Louis lifts his head, lips trailing up his jaw, settling at his ear.

“I want to dance with the daffodils.” He whispers, the shake to his voice doing nothing to lessen the melodic quality of it. Harry smiles, and wonders if this is how William Wordsworth felt as he sat in this same district and wrote that poem.

“So dance we shall.” He replies, posh and teasingly as he slides off the hood of the car and takes Louis’ hand to pull him along.

The boy smiles, brighter than the sun setting behind him, and Harry loves him with everything he is.

They may not have forever, but maybe today is enough.

-

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

-

Three days before the month of November in 1995, the first snow of the winter season begins to fall as one Harry Styles sits at a bus stop.

His eyes don’t linger on the falling snowflakes, drifting back to his lap with a flutter as he remembers mittened hands and the sounds of blades on ice. Giggling in his ear after he’d fallen a third time.

It’s not the first time the memories take a hold of him, like hands around his throat, and it’s not the first time he’s so lost in them that he misses the bus, just a metre away stopping at the curb.

An hour must pass, for his hands turn numb much like the hole in his chest, and he wonders for the thousandth time if perhaps he will always feel this way. If the persistent ache over his entire body will ever seep away.

People stroll on by as snow begins to gather, but the only thing that removes Harry from his reverie is movement just at his feet. His eyes lift once more, falling onto a kitten. It can’t be more than a handful of months old, slightly wobbly as it walks near the curb. Once the snow begins to really stick, it may just blend in with its grey fur.

He looks away, thinking nothing of it, and wonders idly if he will move his legs today. Force himself up and off to do his responsibilities.

Suddenly, a flash of fur, and the kitten jumps right up into his lap. It curls around into a ball and settles into a purr, and all at once there’s a puff of smoke escaping Harry’s lips, his breath stuttering. He remembers an inked version of the animal, embedded into a dainty wrist, raised up from golden skin. He’d traced that tattoo for hours, before. With his fingers. With his tongue.

_“I want to be a cat, so I can be around someone like you. So,”_ he’d said _“so I can get in your lap when you’re sad and cheer you up.”_

A sort of delirious feeling washes over him. The voice is clear in his head, light and raspy. He still hasn’t forgotten it. Doesn’t think he ever could.

“Lou?” He says, more of a cracked whisper than anything. He reaches for the thing, pets it’s soft _soft_ head with a cold finger.

The cat lifts its head, and finally peers up at him, and Harry’s breath catches. His heart thrums in his chest for what feels like the first time in the last few dark months.

“Lou,” he says again, this time a choked sob. The cat blinks thoughtfully at him, and simply continues to purr.

It’s eyes; blue as an endless ocean.

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> You were warned, but unlike my last sad ending fic (SOUL) i tried to make the ending as unsurprising as possible. There were hints all throughout as to what L's "secret" was. 
> 
> Speaking of SOUL.. I'll be fixing that soon. More info on this later ;)
> 
> if you want to yell at me on a more personal level, my insta DM's are always open: ohpleaselarry
> 
> thanks for reading guys <3


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